


All Things Go

by Cantica10



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Family, Fluff, Gen, Mabel being adorable, Stan being an irresponsible caretaker, Timestuck, Young Stan Pines, adventures of a con man and a 12 year old
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantica10/pseuds/Cantica10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stupid fight and an awful mistake leaves Mabel stuck in 1977. Stan Pines takes her in, acting the rather irresponsible guardian as Mabel tries to return to her own time. A Wings! AU / Timestuck! AU mash up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stuck

This wasn’t the first time Mabel Pines had found herself in deep trouble. It was, however, the first time she’d found herself in such deep trouble alone. Dipper wasn’t around this time to help her think of a good way out of it. She didn’t even have Soos or Wendy to fall back on. She was entirely on her own.

It had all been because of a stupid fight and an even stupider mistake. And as she fell through time, the journey seeming unnaturally long, Mabel couldn’t stop thinking about just how dumb the entire situation was, and how much she regretted all of it.

She landed in an unfamiliar place rather painfully on her right wing. The tape measurer she and Dipper had nicked off of that time traveler weeks ago landed on the ground a few inches away with a crunch, smoke pouring out of it. Mabel could only briefly worry about how bad that probably was as she scrambled to her feet, trying very hard not to move her sore wing, as she snatched up the machine. “Ow,” she grimaced and stuffed it into her sweater pocket. It was extremely hot, so much so that touching it had burned a little bit.

She was in the middle of some unfamiliar city, and it was late. The sky was dark and starless, nothing like the night sky of Gravity Falls. The air smelled faintly acrid, and it was freezing. Whatever year it was, she had arrived on the verge of winter. “Where am I?” she whispered, biting down on her lip and looking around, as though she would see some sign telling her exactly which city she was in.

Or what year. Time travel and all that. A month ago it had been fun. Now it was mildly terrifying. “It’s okay,” she tried to reassure herself, slipping into an alley and sliding to the ground with her back against the wall. “I just have to go back and everything will be okay.” Her wing wasn’t so sore anymore, so it seemed she hadn’t done any lasting damage. Mabel wriggled her hand into her sweater sleeve to use as a sort of protective mitt as she pulled out the time machine. It was still warm, but not painful to touch anymore, so she started fiddling with it.

She pulled out the measuring part of it, estimating she had maybe gone fifteen years into the past as she pulled it to that mark and pressed the button on the side. At once, a jolt of electricity shot out of it into her fingers and up her arm, and she yelped and dropped it, rubbing her hands and staring in horror at the machine. She hadn’t moved at all. It was broken.

She was stuck.

The realization struck her like a punch to the gut, and she scooped up the broken time machine and stuffed it back into her pocket, starting to shake from both cold and concern, as she tried to process this. She didn’t know where or when she was. There was no way to get back to her time.

She would never see Dipper again. She would never see Grunkle Stan or her Great Uncle Ford, or Wendy or Soos or Waddles.

It had been a stupid fight. And she’d lost everything for it.

Panic settled in. She was alone. And now she was very, very afraid. She curled her knees into her chest and buried her face in her hands, breaking down completely. “I don’t know what to do,” she gasped through choked sobs. She felt like she could barely breathe. The cold was starting to cut through her sweater, seeping into her core. She curled in further on herself, trying to conserve heat. “I don’t know what to do…”

 

Stan Pines was doing particularly well for himself that evening. Hell, he had a pocket full of cash and a full belly for the first time in two weeks. He would have been whistling cheerfully if he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. The wings were bad enough. They were big and all too noticeable, as Golden Eagle wings were quite the rarity. He was fairly certain that the security detail at the casino hadn’t figured out he was counting cards – he’d been careful to lose enough before winning big so he wouldn’t be suspected – but he had found it never hurt to be just a little paranoid. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t have let him cash out if they’d suspected him of anything, and he didn’t appear to have anyone tailing him, but he wouldn’t truly breathe easy until he was crossing state lines again.

As he passed an alley on the way back to the place he’d parked his car he thought he heard the sound of someone sniffling. Huh. Did he dare?

The curiosity proved to be too much, and he backtracked. He didn’t really expect much. Probably just a cat. He peered into the dark alley, listening for the sound again. And a sound did come, but a vastly different one – the sound of choked sobs. That was no cat.

He hesitated, thinking through all the ways this could be a trick, but figured it was just too damn strange to be one, so he slowly proceeded into the alley. Jesus, it was a kid.

She was crouched behind the dumpster, crying into the sleeves of a pink sweater that looked a few sizes too big for her, her small body trembling violently. And yet the most shocking thing about her was the pair of beautiful scarlet macaw wings spread out behind her, shuddering with every sob that racked her body. He’d never seen anything quite like them.

“Um… hey. Kid,” he called out softly to her, not sure what else to do. He’d feel wrong leaving her like this. “You okay over there?”

She gasped and her head shot up, her expression one of terror.

 

A part of Mabel had known she’d eventually have to get up and leave the alley, but she had hoped that she could cry herself out before then. She needed, first and foremost, to find out what year it was and then where exactly she had landed if she had any hope of making it back to her own time. She couldn’t be sure if she had even been born yet. Somehow, she doubted it.

She was still pretty immersed in her overwhelming fears and was still several minutes from even trying to stop her crying, but the voice cutting across the alley jolted her out of her misery and she shot her head up in fear. Someone had found her. It could be literally anyone, and they could be out to hurt her.

So she was rather taken when she looked up, expecting to have to make an attempt at protecting herself, and instead looked into the face of a man who looked very much like her father. She almost cried out “Dad!” before she realized that, while alarmingly similar, it was not him. This man had a bigger nose, a squarer jaw, and thicker eyebrows. Not to mention different wings. That was the real giveaway.

His wings were magnificent, even if they did look a little worse for wear. They were enormous and bronze, and even though they were tattered and a little ragged they were still beautiful. Powerful.

She knew him, but she didn’t know how she knew him. She _had_ to know him. He was too familiar for her not to somehow know him. She just couldn’t quite put her finger on it. But just because she knew him, that didn’t make him safe.

“Who are you?!” she demanded, her teeth chattering so the question came out shaky. She tried to stand up, but it was like her legs were refusing to be legs. The fact that she was so cold she could barely feel them certainly wasn’t helping. She got halfway up before her knees buckled and she fell back to the ground, growing more frightened every second. This eliminated any possibility of running away if she needed to.

 

Stan’s heart ached with pity as he watched the girl try to stand and fail. From the sound of her voice, he could venture a pretty decent guess that she wasn’t just shivering because she was crying – she was freezing. Well, he didn’t blame her. Snow was due any day now, and she was wearing a skirt. “Take it easy,” he said as reassuringly as he could, slowly approaching the girl so he wouldn’t startle her further. “I just want to help.”

The girl’s expression melted from fear into confliction, and she shrunk further in on herself. Her feathers ruffled as he approached. “St-stay back,” she stammered out. The closer Stan got the paler she looked.

He stopped, not wanting her to be frightened of him. He felt bad for the girl. He knew what it was like to be scared and alone, once upon a time. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assured her, slowly shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and over his wings and holding it out to her. “Here. Let’s warm you up a little.”

At last she cracked a tiny smile and inched forward, closing the gap between them enough for her to take the jacket. She got her wings through the slits in the fabric and slipped her arms into the sleeves, mumbling contentedly. Stan’s lips twitched up into a smile. The jacket was far too big for her, the sleeves hanging well past her hands and the fur lining at the bottom knocking against her knees.

“Thank you,” she whispered, smiling shyly up at him.

“Yeah,” Stan said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I am gonna need that back, though. Once you’ve stopped shaking so much.”

She nodded, wrapping the jacket tighter around her thin shoulders.

“What are you doing out here, Kid?” Stan asked, kneeling down so he was at her eye level. “You lost or something?”

She started chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes welling up again. “Um… kind of,” she sniffled, shaking one sleeve down so her hand went free and she could wipe at her eyes.

“Well, uh, if you need a lift home I can give you a ride,” Stan offered, wishing he had a way to stop her tears. Unfortunately, his suggestion only seemed to upset her more, as she started crying again.

“I can’t go home!” she whimpered, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t!”

God, this kid had it bad. “Hey, it’s alright,” he tried to comfort her, awkwardly reaching out a hand and patting her shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She nodded, but her face remained in her hands, and Stan sighed. “What’s your name, Kid?”

She let out a shuddery breath. “M-Mabel,” she said, keeping her last name to herself. He didn’t blame her. He knew what that was like.

He was going by Earl Paisley nowadays, and he was accustomed to introducing himself as such, so when he told her his real name he was a little shocked with himself. He hadn’t intended to, really; it had just slipped out. “I’m Stan Pines.”

The girl gasped and her wings perked up at once, and her head shot up out of her hands. “Grunk—!” she yelped, and then cut short. Stan stared at her, surprised by her sudden change in demeanor. She was staring back, her eyes sparkling with something Stan wasn’t accustomed to seeing anymore – adoration.

He grunted as Mabel barreled into him, her arms around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder, nuzzling her cheek against his shirt. “It’s so nice to meet you, Stan Pines,” she mumbled, sounding so relieved and happy that Stan didn’t know what else to do except for hug her back. Somehow he felt highly affectionate towards her.

“Yeah. Nice to meet you too, Kid,” he said, rubbing her back a little bit.

From somewhere outside the alley, down the street, Stan heard voices approaching. Paranoia settling in again he pulled back from the kid and stood up, looking down at her. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her quickly from the alley and down the street towards where he’d parked his car. “You can stay with me for a while until we figure out what to do about your, er… situation.”

“Okay!” Mabel said eagerly, grinning up at him as he pulled her down the street.

Stan let out a long breath as they hurried along. What the hell had he gotten himself into this time?


	2. Sleep

Stan stared at Mabel through his rearview mirror as they headed out of Pennsylvania. She was curled up in the backseat, still wearing his jacket and staring out the window with her wings carefully draped on the seat next to her. Her mouth was set in a hard line and she was absentmindedly turning what looked like a tape measurer over in her hands. She hadn’t spoken a word since she crawled into his car, and as Stan drove north towards New York he started to worry that what he was doing counted as kidnapping.

“So, uh, Mabel,” he said, and her eyes flicked up to look at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “You from Philadelphia?”

She shook her head, still unsmiling. “California.”

Jesus. She’d gotten all the way across the country, then. Things must have been really bad for her to get so far from home all alone like she was. “Wow. That’s a long way away.”

“You have no idea,” she mumbled, stuffing the tape measurer into her front sweater pocket and sighing heavily. _A long way away and 35 years too far_ , she thought, swallowing hard. She didn’t want to start crying again, but she felt like she still had so many tears left in her. Even though she had found Stan, he wasn’t her Grunkle – yet – and she couldn’t tell him anything. He had no idea who she was. Though she already knew the answer, she asked anyway, “What about you? Are you from Philadelphia?”

He made a scathing noise. “Absolutely not. I move around a lot. Been up and down the East Coast tons of times. Nah, I’m from Jersey. Much better than Pennsylvania.”

Mabel nodded distractedly, resting her cheek in one palm. “What were you doing in Philadelphia?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Stan retorted. He didn’t want to tell the kid Philadelphia was a good city for gamblers, especially a player like himself who kept a pair of loaded dice on his person at all times and could count cards with ease. Since he wasn’t allowed back in New Jersey, he couldn’t try his luck in Atlantic City anymore, which was a real shame.

Mabel shrugged and wrapped his jacket a little tighter around her shoulders. “I’m not really sure how I ended up here. I just… did.”

Maybe she was sneaking on trains without a clue of where they were headed, Stan wondered. Either way, he was a little impressed with her guts. It took a lot to venture so far from home, especially as young as she was. Which reminded him… “How old are you, Kid?”

“I’m twelve.”

Stan whistled. She was younger than he’d thought. He wasn’t qualified for this. He shouldn’t be taking care of a kid. He could barely take care of himself. Maybe he should find child services and hand her over. They’d probably take her back where she came from, and she’d probably be better off.

Except that she’d sounded _really_ upset when she’d mentioned home, and how she couldn’t go back. He guessed things had to be nightmarish if she’d gotten nearly three thousand miles away from home. She had to be running from some seriously messed up stuff.

And Stan had little trust for the system. No, he’d figure it out, he decided. He knew how it was to be alone in the world, and abandoned. Mabel was a whole heck of a lot younger than he was when he’d found himself on his own, too. He couldn’t leave her alone.

He watched the girl in his backseat yawn and snuggle up next to the window, shutting her eyes and drifting quickly into sleep. “Huh,” he mumbled under his breath. “Looks like I’ve gained a sidekick.”

 

Mabel did not sleep easy. She was haunted by her fears of never getting home and seeing Dipper or Great Uncle Ford or Grunkle Stan as he was in her timeline again. Bill Cipher floated through her dreams, taunting her for such a stupid mistake. And at the culmination of her nightmares, she replayed the fight she’d had that had landed her in her mess, relived Dipper yelling angrily at her until in a moment of blind fury she had wrenched the time machine away from him and fallen backwards, landing on top of it. And then everything was a mess of swirling lights and colors and twisted faces, and she was entirely alone –

And she woke up, gasping for breath with tears staining her cheeks. She panicked for a moment because she was not in her bed in the attic of the Mystery Shack, and everything came crashing back down on her when she realized she was still in the backseat of Stan’s car, the Diablo she knew so well but was just at the moment in much better condition than she was used to. The car was no longer moving, and as she stared out the window she could surmise they were parked in a dark lot, though she couldn’t begin to guess exactly where. In the front seat, Stan had his head tilted against the back of the seat and was snoring softly, wrapped in his wings for some modicum of warmth.

All Mabel’s worries began twisting in her gut, making her feel like she wanted to throw up. How would she get back to Gravity Falls, and back to her own time? _Could_ she get back, or was she doomed to remain in her past forever? What would she tell Stan? Could she stick around with him forever? But eventually she would have to leave him, wouldn’t she, so she didn’t screw up the future too badly?

Her mind went to all the time travel movies she’d ever seen, and how people from the future disappeared in the past if they changed their timelines too drastically. She didn’t want to disappear, to just not exist. That would be worse than dying.

She fumbled with the zipper on Stan’s jacket, jerkily yanking it up to her neck and pulling the hood over the top of her head, trying to shut out the world as she broke down, trying to cry quietly so she wouldn’t wake up her future great uncle’s sleep. No matter what she thought about, she could see no way any of this situation ended well for her.

After a few minutes of choked sobbing, most of it with her hand clapped over her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle her whimpers, Mabel jolted when she felt a hand on her knee. She jerked her head up to stare into the concerned expression of a young Stan Pines. “Kid?” he whispered hoarsely. “You okay?”

She felt it was fairly obvious that she wasn’t, but for good measure shook her head as her body shuddered with yet another sob.

Stan looked painfully awkward. “You… you wanna come sit up front with me?” he asked, unsure of what else to do. What he wanted to do was go back there and hug the girl, try to assure her things were going to be okay – but he didn’t know how well she’d take to that. After all, he was a stranger, right? People could get techy when strangers hugged them.

Mabel nodded and undid her seatbelt before crawling over the seat for the passenger’s side. She situated herself so she was curled up with her knees pulled towards her chest. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nah,” Stan shook his head. “I’m a heavy sleeper. You’ve got to be louder than that to wake me up.” He was lying. He was a very light sleeper. It was a side effect of paranoia. He was, however, fairly certain Mabel hadn’t been the cause of his abrupt jerk back to consciousness – it was just how he was. People came after him sometimes. He had to be alert at all times.

Mabel sighed and rested her head against the window. “Okay.”

Stan shut his eyes. How did he deal with this? He had never been that great with kids. He didn’t know how to connect with them. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes again. “No,” she mumbled, nuzzling her face into the furry hood of his jacket. “I don’t.”

“Alright.” Stan let the conversation end on an awkward note that hung uncomfortably in the air between them.

Mabel broke the silence. “Where are we?”

“Outskirts of New York City,” Stan informed her, stretching out an arm. “Drove a couple hours and you were passed out in the backseat. I figured I’d pull over and get some shuteye myself.”

“What are we doing in New York?” Mabel asked, gazing out the window. She could see the lights of the city not far away.

“Dunno yet,” Stan shrugged. “But it’s a big place. Plenty of things to do.”

Knowing what Stan was like in the future, Mabel assumed he meant _Plenty of people to con_ , but she didn’t say anything about it. Instead she nodded and asked, “What time is it?”

Stan checked his watch, a cheap knick-knack with a cracked face he had nicked off a man he’d found passed out outside a bar a few months back. But it told the time just fine. “About three in the morning,” he sighed. He thought it was later than that. “You should get some more sleep, Kid. You had a heck of a day yesterday, didn’t you?”

She bit her lip and nodded. “Mm-hm. Yeah…”

Stan watched her warily as she laid down on the seat, her wings tucked neatly behind her and extending slightly into the foot space of the passenger side, rustling with her little motions. Stan sighed and tilted his head against the back of the seat again, and had just shut his eyes when he felt something rest on his leg and flinched. Looking down, he saw Mabel had rested her head on his knee to use as a pillow. “Good night, Stan,” she whispered, snuggling up into a ball. She looked so small wearing his jacket. So helpless.

Stan let out a long breath and rested a tentative hand on her shoulder, working out a few tangles at the ends of her hair with his fingers. How long had it been since someone had trusted him like this? Years? She was giving him all the trust she had. He was afraid he’d screw up royally and break it.

But it did feel good, for once, to have a clear goal in his mind. _Take care of this kid_.

A smile twitching up at the corner of his lips, Stan closed his eyes again and rested his head against his seat, one wing wrapping around his own body and the other moving to protectively cover the girl lying on the seat next to him. “Good night, Mabel,” he breathed out, drifting back into sleep within a few minutes.

It had been a long time since he’d slept so soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Mabel needed to start working through a few things. Also, Stan being a bit of a sweetheart. Watch for Chapter 3!


	3. Performance

Stan woke up as the sun was starting to rise, fading slowly from sleep to consciousness. That hadn’t happened in a while. Usually he jolted awake, nightmares or not. When a person lived in constant fear someone might come after him, one tended to jerk into alertness more often than not.

Mabel was still sleeping next to him, her cheek remaining pressed against his leg and a soft smile on her features. Stan absentmindedly patted her shoulder. At least she wasn’t having nightmares now, like he’d assumed she’d been having last night when he’d woken up to find her sobbing quietly in the backseat.

Stan shifted his left wing so it extended into the backseat, stretching it out, but he kept the other draped protectively over the kid as he started the car and backed out of the parking spot he’d chosen last night on the outskirts of the big city. His car needed gas, and both he and Mabel were going to be needing breakfast.

 

Mabel sighed as she began to stir, sitting up and looking around. It was light out now, and the car had moved. She could hear the low hum of people not too far away through the cracked window. She looked towards the driver’s side, and was more than a little worried to see it empty. Oh, god. What if it was starting already? What if, just by meeting her, timelines were warping and everything was changing and Stan was gone forever?!

Mabel frantically looked out the window, but couldn’t see him. The car was parked next to a pump at a gas station, but Stan was nowhere to be found. “Stan?!” she called frantically, the seed of worry in her stomach festering. “Stan?!” She opened the door and got out, sticking close to the car but still calling out, getting more and more panicked, “Stan?! Stan, where are you?! _Stan!”_

“Mabel?!" she heard an anxious, familiar voice respond, and she turned to see Stan racing across the lot towards her from the gas station. “What’s going on?!” he demanded, reaching her and kneeling so he could better see her. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Mabel threw herself into his arms, relief washing over her. She had to calm down. She couldn’t freak out every time Stan left her alone for a few minutes to run some errand. She was just so on edge, frightened that everything she did was going to have cataclysmic results.

Stan sighed and hugged her tight. Why did he feel so protective of this kid? Probably because he knew what it was like to be abandoned and alone. That had to be it. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I should have woken you up to let you know what was going on.”

Mabel shook her head and buried her face in his shoulder. “No… it’s my fault,” she mumbled. “I just got… worried, that’s all.”

Stan shook his head and pulled back, standing up and showing her the bag he had clutched in one hand with an expression of victory. “I’ve got breakfast,” he grinned. “Hope you like donuts, Kid.”

Mabel beamed up at him. “Yeah!”

“Get back in the car first,” Stan ordered, opening the door back up for her. “We’ve got to find a place to park the ol’ Stan-mobile for the day, and then we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

 

It turned out giving Mabel sugar may have not been his best idea. It had kicked in just after they’d found a rare parking spot that didn’t require paying a parking meter for the privilege of leaving his car unsupervised for the next several hours, and suddenly as they walked up the street Mabel was a little ball of energy, racing every which way looking at anything even remotely interesting. After Stan nearly lost her in a crowd of people he had taken her hand tightly in his own and refused to let her go for fear she’d wander off and they’d get separated.

“That building is so tall,” Mabel marveled, staring up at the skyline. Stan could feel the jittery energy coming off of her. “Is that the Empire State Building?! Stan, can we go see the Empire State Building?!” She looked incredibly excited for a moment, then her expression melted into one of concern. “Wait, has it even been built yet?” she muttered, looking contemplative.

Stan snorted, amused. “Of course it’s been built, Kid. What year do you think it is?”

Mabel froze, stopping Stan in his tracks as he tried to keep walking a couple more steps. She hadn’t figured out what year she’d landed in yet. How old was Grunkle Stan in her timeline? And how old was this Stan? She looked around at the people passing by, hoping their fashion would give her some sense of year, but fashion of the 1900s wasn’t something she had really paid attention to. “Um… 19…65?” she mumbled.

Stan stared at her, dumbfounded for a moment before he burst out laughing. “65?  Jeeze, Kid, you must have hit your head somewhere along the way from California.” He assumed she was joking. She had to be joking. If his math was correct, and simple math was something he was _very_ good at, 1965 would have had to be her birth year. “Welcome to 1977, Mabel,” he chortled, starting up their trek again.

Mabel grinned, trying to hide how embarrassed she was. “Of course I knew that. Duh,” she said, waving her free hand in an attempt to prove she’d been joking all along. Desperate suddenly to divert the topic of conversation, she asked, “So, what are we going to do in New York, Grunk — I mean, Stan?”

Stan would have liked to find a good casino with a mediocre security detail, of which there were many in New York City, but with Mabel in tow that wasn’t an option. So he was planning to rely on one of his other skills, one he’d honed to a near art form in the last few years. “You ever done any pickpocketing?” he asked.

Mabel bit her lip. She _had_ , as a matter of fact. She’d been taught by the very man walking beside her, though the older version from her timeline. It had been a joke, really, when Grunkle Stan had offered to teach her, but because she loved him and wanted to spend time with him she’d said okay. The whole week after, she’d practiced by nicking Soos’s wallet off of him, Wendy’s phone from her pocket, and after several failed attempts she’d at last succeeded in plucking Stan’s wallet from his jacket without his notice. When he’d discovered her successful thievery, he’d grinned and patted her head affectionately, telling her she made him proud.

She’d known, in the back of her mind, her Grunkle had used that skill in the past for stealing. She just didn’t like to think of it, because he was a good person. And now she was being faced with the man he had been, one who used that skill often to take money off of unsuspecting people just walking down the street.

“I have,” she mumbled truthfully. “But I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Stan shook his head. “You’re never going to get anywhere with an attitude like that, Kid. You gotta look out for yourself, you know?”

“But it’s _wrong!_ ” Mabel insisted, her mouth setting in a line as her wings drooped. She knew today was going to end with Stan stealing money from people, because she knew _him_ —she just didn’t want to be a part of it.

Stan sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He could feel how greasy it was. How long had it been since he’d showered? A few days. He’d snuck into a gym and used the showers there. He probably couldn’t get away with that again, especially not with Mabel. What they needed was a night in a motel, and for that they would require enough money to afford one. His mind flickered to the stack of cash shoved in the secret compartment in the trunk of the Diablo, cash he’d won gambling the night before, but he quickly shoved it aside. That was for something else. A debt he needed to pay back sooner rather than later.

He may be letting this kid believe they were in New York City purely by chance to earn a quick buck, but he had ulterior motives.

“How much of a scene do you think you can make, sweetie?” he asked, thinking nothing of the term of endearment until it had slipped past his lips. He was a little shocked with himself.

But Mabel heard it and her face lit up again. He’d called her _sweetie_ , just like she’d heard him call her countless times in the future. It made her feel better, even more affectionate towards him than she had been before. Even if she hadn’t been born yet, this was still her Grunkle Stan. “What kind of a scene?!” she asked, a new spring in her step.

“Any kind. Jump up and down, tell a ridiculous story, make some weird noises,” Stan suggested, seeing her newfound excitement and liking it. He could use this. “Flap those colorful wings of yours. Really draw people’s attention.”

Mabel’s grin was growing wider by the second. She adored being the center of attention most of the time, and with Stan so close to watch her she felt perfectly safe to make a scene like he was asking. Oh, the possibilities…

Ten minutes later Mabel was perched on the top of a low wall in a park, singing “Don’t Start Un-Believing” at the top of her lungs, flapping her beautiful wings and doing a strange sort of jig, vocalizing the guitar riff and other short musical bridges as she gave her impromptu performance. She looked even more adorable in her pink sweater and purple skirt, having given Stan his jacket back, and her innocent face only made her more endearing. She had gained a bit of a crowd, who were laughing and cheering her on. Stan moved from person to person, nicking stray bills and wallets off of various people with deft hands, making sure to put the wallets back in the correct pockets with a bit of cash missing. No one suspected a thing.

Mabel took a grand bow and Stan had to laugh at the wide smile on her lips. She was really quite the performer.

The crowd dispersed, a few people pressing a few coins into Mabel’s hands as they continued about their lives, and Mabel raced back to Stan. “How was that?!” she asked eagerly, and he beamed back and swept her up in a hug.

“Fantastic, Kid,” he assured her, letting her go. “What was that song, anyway? I’ve never heard it before.”

“What?” Mabel asked, blinking up at him. She had thought the song was old enough. She tried to think if she had ever found out what year that song was released, racking her memory until she recalled something Stan had said once when she’d played that song in the Mystery Shack. Something about 80’s music being much better than what artists released nowadays.

The 80’s. That song was an 80’s rock ballad. And she was in the 70’s.

Mabel groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I hope the time police don’t come after me for that,” she mumbled, regretting everything.

“What?” Stan asked. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Oh, uh… nothing!” Mabel exclaimed, jerkily looking back up and laughing nervously. “It was nothing! I didn’t say anything!”

Stan shook his head, but he was still grinning. “You’re pretty weird, Kid. I hope you know that.”

“Yep!” Mabel giggled and held out her hand, showing him the coins people had given to her. “Look, Stan! I made almost two dollars!”

 _You made us a lot more than that, Kid_ , Stan thought. By his count, he’d managed to get around twenty dollars off his various victims in her audience. That was a lot more than he usually made in a day of pickpocketing, and it was still early. Mabel offered him her coins and he pocketed them, taking her hand in his again. He wanted to get away from this park, lest one of the people he’d nicked cash off of figured out their money was missing and put two and two together. He was always careful to never take all a person’s money off of them, because they were less likely to notice some missing until much later, but he was still cautious. “Let’s go, Mabel,” he said, pulling her along. “Plenty of other parks around here, and all sorts of people wanting to hear that song.”

 

Mabel put on that same performance four more times that day, earning nearly ten dollars on her own and Stan plucking a grand total of sixty more off of people who stopped to watch her. She insisted come midday that she would buy lunch when they passed a hot dog stand on the street, and Stan watched her fondly as they sat on a bench in the park as she geared up for another “show,” her legs swinging as she talked wildly through mouthfuls about how much she liked New York.

Stan was frightened by how much he liked Mabel. He was more than a little terrified he’d make a big mistake and screw her up. Or screw her over. Not that he would ever want to do that to her, but it seemed like a lot of the time, good intentions or not, the people he loved got the short end of the stick. He just wanted her to be happy, he realized, because seeing that big goofy grin on her face, ketchup smeared on her chin, made him feel like he was worth something again. It was a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time.

Which is why later that night, when they were back in his car and he was counting up the cash he’d picked up from people, he felt so bad when he felt her horrified gaze on him. “What?” he asked, looking over at her.

She was sitting in the passenger seat gaping at him. “You… you _stole_ all of that?” she asked in shock, and Stan got the distinct feeling she wasn’t impressed.

He sighed. Was that guilt he was feeling knotting in his stomach? It had been a while since that emotion had graced him with its presence. “Come on, Kid. You had to know what I was doing.”

“Well… yeah,” she spluttered, staring at the cash in his hands. “But I didn’t realize you took so much of it!”

“It’s like I said, sweetie,” Stan mumbled, stacking the bills neatly and stuffing them into his pocket. He was hoping the term of endearment would distract her. “You gotta take care of yourself. You can’t think about other people all the time. That’s a surefire way to make yourself miserable.”

Mabel gave him a hard stare, the nickname having no effect, shaking her head disapprovingly. Stan felt like a kid again, being chastised for accidentally breaking the neighbor’s window. This kid knew how to make a guy feel guilty, that was for sure. “I still don’t like it,” she muttered, curling in on herself and pressing her cheek against the window.

“You want my jacket?” Stan asked her, turning on the engine. He had to move the car for the night.

“No,” she said shortly, and her caustic tone stung. Stan felt terrible. This kid was _really_ upset with him.

She was asleep by the time he parked, once again having found a secluded place on the outskirts of the city where he felt safe. He sighed heavily and extended his wing to cover Mabel, noticing her shivering. He knew his wings were good for warmth, at the very least, and even though she was mad at him – and he knew if she was awake she’d refuse his help – he was stubborn, too. And he was determined to take care of her. After all, he’d invited her along. That made her his responsibility.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, glancing over at her. She had stopped shaking, at the very least. “Good night, Kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I am very good at taking fluff and turning it into feels. And I'm kind of sorry...  
> Watch for Chapter 4.


	4. Tongue-tied

Mabel twitched in her sleep, grimacing as Dipper’s voice echoed in her subconscious.

“ _Grunkle Ford still isn’t telling me something. I can feel it, Mabel. I’ve got to go back, and – and find out what it is._ ”

_“No! Dipper, you can’t! We have to stop doing this all the time!”_

_“Doing what?! Trying to fight Bill?!” Dipper demanded angrily._

_“No!” Mabel yelled back, growing frustrated with her twin. “Not trusting anyone! Great Uncle Ford is our family! We have to be able to trust our family!”_

_“What, like you trusted me with the portal?!” Dipper spat, and Mabel recoiled like he had slapped her._

_“I… that was… that turned out okay!” she insisted tearily. That had been a low blow._

_“Doesn’t matter. You didn’t trust me,” Dipper said thickly. “And I have to do this. The more I know about Bill, the more I can help. But I’ve got to find out what Grunkle Ford is hiding first.” He gripped the end of the tape measurer._

_“NO!” Mabel shrieked, barreling into her brother and snatching at the time machine. “Give it to me!”_

_“Mabel, get off!”_

_“Hand it over!” Mabel shouted, wrenching it out of her brother’s grasp and reeling back, losing her balance and toppling over backwards. She landed with a painful thud and a metallic crunch and then everything was spinning out of control and she was completely alone._

She awoke with a start, her limbs flailing as she let out a terrified shout, tangled up in something on top of her. She swatted at it, panicking. “No! Get off!”

Stan jolted awake and yanked his wing off the top of her in pain. “What the fu—heck?! Mabel?! What in the name of all that is good in this world are you doing?!” Stan yelped, barely keeping himself from swearing in front of the kid.

She realized where she was and stared at Stan blankly. “I…I…” she stammered out, lost for words. “I…” She couldn’t catch her breath properly.

Stan, recognizing the early signs of a panic attack, shifted over to give her some space if she wanted it. “Mabel, are you okay?” he asked, as calmly as he could. Getting panicked himself would do her no good.

She shook her head and broke down, burying her face in her hands.

“Can I do anything?” Stan offered, watching her with his heart twisting painfully. He felt so bad for the poor kid, and since she’d been mad at him when they’d gone to sleep he didn’t know if she’d want his comfort.

But she did. She looked up for just a moment, pleading silently as she tried to catch her breath, and held out her arms. Stan recognized the cue and at once scooted closer to her, wrapping her up in his arms. “Sshh,” he tried to comfort her. “It’s okay, Kid. It’s gonna be okay.”

He repeated those words over and over as Mabel slowly recovered, her breaths growing steadier until she was breathing normally again, though still crying softly into Stan’s shirt. “I… I’m sorry,” Mabel whispered shakily. “I don’t really know what just happened.”

“Was it nightmares?” Stan asked gently, softly running his hands over her wings. She sighed, soothed by the motion, and nodded. Stan held her just a little more tightly. “If you wanna talk about it, you can. I’ll do what I can to help.”

She sniffled and shook her head, knowing she probably shouldn’t tell him what was wrong. That might lead to other questions, and she was positive telling him she was his great niece from the future was not going to be something he would take well.

Stan didn’t pry. He understood perfectly not wanting to talk about things. “Okay,” he whispered, still stroking her wings until her muscles relaxed and her crying came to a stop. He glanced at his watch. It was about six in the morning. The sun would start rising in an hour. “You wanna go get breakfast?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” Mabel nodded and pulled away, wiping at her eyes. “Can I get orange juice?”

Stan cracked a smile at her. “Sure you can, sweetie,” he said, sticking his key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. “Sure you can.”

 

“What are you drawing over there, Mabel?” Stan inquired some twenty minutes later from their booth in a diner not far from where they’d parked the car for the night. Mabel was happily sketching on the back of her paper placemat using the cup of broken and half-sharpened colored pencils their waitress had given to her, humming to herself.

Mabel hunched over her drawing, making sure he couldn’t see it. “No peeking! It isn’t done yet!”

Stan chuckled and leaned back in his booth. “Okay, I get the message.”

“Here ya go, dears,” the waitress came back, setting down a glass of water in front of Stan and orange juice in front of Mabel. “Hey, listen, I’m coming off the night shift and my replacement just got here, so she’s gonna be taking care of you for the rest of your meal. She’ll be right over to grab your orders from ya.”

“Okay! Thanks!” Mabel grinned, taking a long sip of her orange juice. The woman smiled back and left.

“So, you an artist, Kid?” Stan asked as Mabel returned to her masterpiece.

She giggled. “Yes, I guess? I draw a lot. One time I sculpted an entire wax figure and doused it in glitter!”

Stan didn’t know whether he should believe her, but story or not he could certainly imagine her using glitter in whatever projects she took on. “That’s pretty neat. Who’d you sculpt?”

“Hm?” Mabel looked up and immediately her mind started to race. She couldn’t tell him the truth. “Oh, um…”

She was saved by the appearance of their new waitress, and the moment the woman came to their booth Mabel’s eyes lit up and she let out a small shriek of excitement. “Holy cow! Your wings!” she exclaimed gleefully, pointing at the scarlet and blue wings protruding from the woman’s back. “They’re like mine!”

Stan, meanwhile, was distracted by the woman’s face – which was gorgeous – before his eyes traveled downwards, and just, Jesus. Those were some short shorts. And this woman had some damn fine legs on her.

The woman laughed and extended a wing. “Yeah, would you look at that!” she beamed down at Mabel. “Wow, I’ve never met anyone else with scarlet macaw wings. This is so cool!”

Mabel scrambled out of her seat to stand next to the woman, beaming and extending the same wing. They were practically identical. Stan gaped at them. Not only were their wings more or less the same, they had other features that were extremely similar. Long brown hair that curled at the ends, the same nose and eye shape. The more Stan stared the more it seemed unlikely the two weren’t related.

But watching their exchange it was clear the two had never met one another. They giggled and compared wings, marveling at the similarities. Finally, Mabel decided to introduce herself. “I’m Mabel, and this is Stan!” she grinned, gesturing to him. He tried not to look like he had been staring.

The woman flashed him a grin that nearly knocked Stan to the floor, he thought it was so adorable. “I’m Carla,” she introduced herself. “Stan? You’ve barely said a word. Is this your sister?” She placed a hand on Mabel’s shoulders and knelt down so she and the girl were on the same level, both beaming up at him.

“Oh, uh… not exactly,” Stan mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. He never got all weird and nervous around cute girls. Why did this one have him so flustered?

“Stan’s taking care of me for a couple weeks while my parents are away!” Mabel’s lie was so quick and fluid Stan almost believed it himself. She was glancing back and forth between him and Carla, an eyebrow raised. Oh, god, Stan thought. She knew he liked the woman.

Carla laughed and pulled a notepad from her apron pocket. “Okay, okay. I should probably actually take your order, right? What can I get for you two?”

“Pancakes, please!” Mabel requested eagerly, crawling back into the booth.

“A short stack for the short stack,” Carla grinned, and Mabel giggled. “And what about you, Stan?”

He was fairly certain he was turning red. “Oh, uh, bacon and eggs.”

“Solid choice,” Carla said approvingly, picking up their menus. “I’ll be back in a bit with those then.” As she turned, Stan saw her wink at him.

As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen Stan groaned and rested his head on his hands. “Wow. I’m an idiot,” he groaned.

“You like Carla!” Mabel squealed, practically jumping up and down in her seat with excitement. “Stan, you _have_ to ask her out! Or get her phone number at least! She’s amazing! And she’s so pretty!”

“Yeah, I get that,” Stan sighed. “There’s something wrong with me, Kid. I’ve never been all – all tongue-tied like that in front of a girl before.”

“That means you _like_ her!” Mabel exclaimed, so ecstatic she felt like she could burst. “Stan, if you don’t get her phone number I’ll never forgive you! Never _ever never_!”

She was so intense Stan finally had to crack a grin. “Say never one more time.”

“Never!”

He shook his head, smiling fondly across the table at her. “Okay, Kid. I get it,” he said. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

Mabel continued coloring whatever it was she was working on, and Stan listened to her talk about her friends from home, Candy and Grenda, one of them who had hummingbird wings, which interested him as he’d never seen anyone with hummingbird wings before, and after a while Carla returned with their food.

Stan still turned red when she grinned at him, setting his plate down, but managed to flash a smile back at her. Carla’s smile widened and she looked to Mabel. “So, who in your family did you inherit your wings from?”

Mabel shrugged as she doused her pancakes in syrup. “My grandmother, I think. But I can’t be too sure because I’ve never met her.”

“Easy on the syrup, Kid,” Stan ordered, reaching across the table and taking the bottle from her. “I do _not_ want you on a sugar high again.”

Carla looked at him approvingly. “Smart. She seems like a ball of energy as it is.”

“You have no idea!” Mabel beamed, contentedly taking to her food.

Breakfast proceeded smoothly. Mabel was happy, at least, and Stan found his stride with Carla. They talked while Mabel watched them, a dreamy look in her eyes. She adored playing matchmaker. Stan learned Carla was a year younger than he was, she was trying to earn enough money to take classes part time at a community college, and that she liked boxing in her spare time, which he thought was extremely sexy.

He had originally been planning on making breakfast a dine and dash sort of situation, but he liked Carla too much to do that to her. He knew he wanted to see her again, so he paid the bill and even threw a tip on the table as Carla was coming by to grab their plates.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing his neck nervously. “So, I was, uh, wondering if I could have your number. I’d like to, you know, take you out sometime. Next time I’m in New York.”

Carla laughed at how embarrassed he was. “You’re adorable, Stan,” she told him, ripping off a sheet from her notepad and scribbling her name and a phone number across it. She handed it to him. “I’d love to see you again.”

Stan took it, hardly believing that had worked. “Yeah. Um… thanks.”

“No problem,” Carla winked at him. “I’ll wait for that call, then.”

And just like that she was gone, and Mabel all but had to drag Stan out of the diner. As soon as the door shut behind them she let out a high pitched squeal. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Stan, you got it! When are you gonna call her?!”

Stan looked down at the sheet of paper clutched in his hand. _Carla McCorkle,_ it read, followed by her phone number. “I guess when we get your situation squared away,” he said, still a little dumbfounded.

As happy as Mabel was, his statement made her smile melt. She’d almost forgotten that she couldn’t stay with him forever. She had to get back to her time, because he was waiting for her in the future. And as much as she loved him now, she still missed her Grunkle Stan.

Stan shook himself out of his daze. He had to pull himself together. There was a lot he had to take care of today, which meant the fun, just for the moment, was over. “Come on,” he grabbed Mabel’s hand as they walked to the car. “There’s a place I’ve got to stop by.”

“Am I singing in parks again today?” Mabel asked, hurrying along beside him. Three of her strides matched one of his.

“Maybe this afternoon,” Stan said, a little lost in thought. Dread was knotting his stomach. As much as he hated the idea of going back, it was for the greater good.

They reached the car and Mabel crawled into the passenger side. As Stan slid in behind the wheel, a thought occurred to him. “Oh, yeah. What were you drawing inside, Mabel? Did you finish it?”

She grinned and pulled the folded up placemat from inside her sweater pocket. “Yep! Look!” she said, handing it to him. He unfolded it and immediately felt his heart melt. It was a drawing of the two of them standing in front of the Diablo. “It’s us,” Mabel said proudly.

“Yeah, and it’s good,” Stan smiled, reaching out a hand to affectionately pat her head. “This is really great, Kid.”

“I want you to have it,” Mabel said, buckling her seatbelt and settling in, still watching Stan. He was staring at the drawing with a genuinely happy smile on his face. It made her feel extremely satisfied to know she was making him feel good about himself.

Stan leaned over and opened his glove compartment, neatly tucking the drawing inside along with Carla’s phone number. “Then I’ll put it here for now, to keep it safe.”

Mabel smiled. “Okay!”

Stan shut the glove compartment and started his car. “Long day ahead of us, Kid,” he said, trying not to sound too worried. “Let’s get going.”


	5. Rule Breakers

Mabel retrieved the broken time machine from its spot wedged below the cushions of the backseat and returned to fiddling mindlessly with it, turning it over and over again in her hands nervously as Stan navigated his car through the streets of New York. He looked apprehensive, she noted, chewing on the inside of her cheek. The happy atmosphere they’d had in the diner was gone, replaced by a tension that set Mabel’s nerves on edge. All she could do was fidget with the tape measurer and stare out the window, reading the signs they passed.

Stan knew he was making Mabel nervous, but there was no helping it as he couldn’t even calm himself down. He didn’t want to go where he was, but there was no avoiding it. Otherwise he would be forced for the rest of his life to always be looking over his shoulder, paranoia ever-present in the back of his mind. Afraid that they would come for him at any minute.

He pulled up next to the dingy bar and looked sternly at Mabel. “Stay here,” he ordered tensely, reaching into the wedge between their seat cushions and yanking out the knife he kept there. He saw her eyes widen as he stashed it in his boot.

She nodded, staring fearfully at him as he got out of the car and went around to the back, popping the trunk and discreetly rummaging around in it, yanking open his secret compartment and pulling out the wads of cash he’d collected over the last few weeks. He stuffed the money in his inside jacket pocket and shut the back compartment. As he went back to the driver’s side to shut the door he paused. “Stay low,” he said, and Mabel at once slid down to the floor of the car, her wings tucked protectively around her.

“Good girl,” Stan sighed, biting his lip as he shut the door and locked it. He hated that he was scaring her, but it was for the best… in the long run.

Mabel watched at Stan trudged into the bar and then ducked back down below the line of sight of anyone who might be looking in through the car windows. She had seen Stan stashing all that money in his jacket. Why did he need so much money? Was he doing some high-stakes betting? Maybe he was playing Russian roulette or something. Mabel’s body trembled at the thought.

She wanted to help. She didn’t want Stan doing dangerous things for money, and she didn’t want him stealing. She didn’t want to trick people; at least, not like she had yesterday. She’d persuaded customers of the Shack into adding more overpriced merchandise to their purchases before, sure, but that at least was sort of legal.

One of the signs she’d read came to mind. It had been advertising some sort of job. _Fifteen minutes is all we need_ , it had said. And it would pay, maybe not a whole lot, but it would still be something. Mabel swallowed hard.

She wanted to help.

She peered out the window, looking for anyone on the street, but there wasn’t anyone around. Taking a deep breath and steeling her nerve she unlocked the door and crawled out, shutting it softly behind her before sprinting off down the street. She could only pray she remembered how to get there.

 

Stan was trying his damnedest not to shake as he went into the bar, and he felt he was putting up a fairly decent façade as he approached the shifty man behind the counter. The man looked up as he advanced, and smirked. “Well, if it isn’t old Eight-Ball. Where the hell have you been hiding, ya bastard?”

“Yeah. Good to see you too, Marco,” Stan greeted him coldly. “It’s been what, three months?”

“A couple weeks more by my count,” Marco grinned back, looking sickly pleased. “Santiago’s been looking for you, and he’s pissed.”

“Yeah, I figured he would be,” Stan said nonchalantly, thought the mention of his old boss made his knees feel a little weaker. He’d never met a more terrifying man. “Where can I find Santiago, anyhow? I’m looking for him, too.”

Marco shook his head. “You’re the stupidest fuck I’ve ever met. You should have stayed away, Eight-Ball. Should have run while you could.”

“Like they wouldn’t follow me,” Stan spat back. “You gonna tell me where I can find Santiago or what?”

Marco shrugged. “Ain’t seen him around for a couple weeks. He’s been laying low. I hear he’s got a new shipment he needs smuggled across the border, but if you’re looking for work like that I’d forget it. I highly doubt Santiago’s gonna be too friendly to the man who disappeared with a couple thousand dollars of his money.”

“Well, I’m here to pay it back,” Stan growled. “Listen, if you can get in contact with him tell him I’m looking for him. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. See if you can’t get me any useful information by then.”

Stan turned his back and headed for the door.

“You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t slit your throat,” Marco called after him, and Stan flipped him the bird before storming out of the bar.

He was furious as he stomped back to his car, unlocking the trunk and wrenching it open, stashing the money back inside and slamming it shut before going back to the driver’s side and unlocking it. When he opened the door, Mabel wasn’t in the front seat anymore. He sighed, assuming she’d crawled into the back. “You can come out, Kid. It’s just me,” he sighed. No reply. Maybe she’d fallen asleep. “Mabel,” he said again. “It’s okay, you don’t have to hide anymore.” He peered over the seat to the back.

She wasn’t there.

“Mabel?” Stan asked, his gut sinking. “Mabel?! Kid?!”

She wasn’t in the car anymore. Oh, god. What if Santiago’s gang had seen him pull up? What if they’d snatched her?

“Shit,” he breathed, frantic. He slammed the door shut and leaned against the car, head in his hands. “Oh, god.”

He felt like there was a weight pressing against his chest, and it was preventing him from drawing breath. Mabel. That sweet kid, taken. He knew Santiago’s gang. They’d rough her up. They’d hurt her. Hell, if Gordon was part of the pack he’d cut her up a bit and rape her, just for the fun of it. He never cared how young they were, the sick fuck. He just wanted his.

“Oh, fuck,” Stan choked out, close to having a nervous breakdown.

Mabel was gone. He didn’t even know where to start looking for her.

 

He had decided for the time being to remain where he was, just in case Mabel came back, but after two hours had passed and she hadn’t returned, nor had he received a disturbing call from a side alley or even from Marco in the bar about a ransom for the girl’s return, Stan was starting to consider going to search for her on foot. He’d already suffered two separate panic attacks considering all the terrible things that could have happened to her, and now all he seemed able to do was lean against the hood of his car with his head in his hands trying not to be sick from the worry.

Two hours. Two hours of not knowing where she was, not knowing what to do.

There weren’t enough curse words in the world for this.

Stan was just about at his breaking point when he saw the flash of scarlet coming up from the end of the street. His head shot up.

He recognized those wings.

“Mabel!” he shouted, sprinting up the street towards her and practically barreling into her, sweeping her up in his arms and cradling her close to his chest. “Oh, my god. I was so… I was…”

Her entire body was trembling, and as he looked down at her he noticed how pale she was, how fragile she looked. “Mabel?” he asked, setting her down and kneeling in front of her, holding her shoulders to keep her upright. “Mabel, sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“St-Stan,” she whispered, biting her lip. Tears were pooling in her eyes. She stumbled forward for another hug and broke down. “I’m so sorry!” she cried into his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to take so long, but I got lost and… and the world’s kind of spinning, and I… I was so afraid I wasn’t going to find you again!” she wailed.

An entirely new fear gripped Stan. “Are you sick?” he asked, pushing Mabel’s hair away from her face to get a better look at her. She looked terrible, but he wasn’t about to say that. “Mabel, please; tell me what’s wrong.”

But she was crying too hard to say, and Stan, worry eating away at him, could do nothing but draw her back into his arms and carry her to the car, gently rubbing his thumb in circles between her shoulder blades. When he reached the Diablo he laid her in the backseat and got in next to her, letting her lay with her head in his lap. “Sweetie, I really need you to tell me what’s going on,” Stan pleaded, trying very hard to keep from shaking as he stroked her wings, trying to offer as much comfort as he could.

One of her breaths hitched and she nodded, reaching a trembling hand into her sweater pocket and pulling out a small wad of cash. “Here,” she whispered, holding it out to him.

“Mabel, what is this?” Stan asked, taking the bills from her. Her hand dropped and she began wiping at her eyes instead.

“I made twelve dollars,” Mabel explained shakily. “I… I just didn’t want to steal anymore. I saw a sign that said they were paying people for blood…”

Stan had heard about the shortage of people donating their blood, so various organizations had taken to paying people for it. Stan had considered going for that himself, but needles made him feel like he was going to throw up. “Wait – don’t they have rules for that?” he asked, confused. “You have to be a certain age and weight or something?”

Mabel shrugged her trembling shoulders and whimpered. “They… they didn’t ask.”

Stan groaned, rubbing her shoulders. “I don’t know how much they took from you, Kid, but it was too much,” he sighed. “First thing’s first, we need to get some food in you. Do you wanna stay back here?”

She shook her head. “I wanna be with you,” she mumbled, sniffling and slowly sitting up. She grimaced and held her head.  “Why is the car spinning?”

Stan shook his head and gently pushed her back down. “Stay here,” he ordered gently, taking off his jacket and balling it up before pushing it beneath her head for her to use as a pillow. “It’s not like I’m going far.”

She let out a noise of disgruntled assent and did as she was told, curling into a ball and shutting her eyes. Stan ran a hand through his hair, pursing his lips. They had to get a motel room tonight. He couldn’t let her sleep in the car again for another night; not the way she was.

He shut the door and went around to the driver’s seat, climbing in and starting the engine. He was feeling guiltier and guiltier by the second. Mabel had done this because she didn’t want to steal from people anymore. He should have guessed she would try something like this – she had been so averse to his pickpocketing yesterday. And the way he felt – the fear and the desperation when he didn’t know where she was, the incredible helplessness of knowing there was nothing he could do; that had been entirely unexpected.

Somehow, in the three short days he had known her, he’d come to care for the kid. He’d come to care for her immensely. It was almost like having family again.

He was primarily concerned with getting food in Mabel’s system – things to help get her iron levels back up, he remembered from one of his high school science classes, one of the few lectures he’d actually listened to because he’d needed to take notes for his sick twin—

Stan shoved the thought out of his head. He didn’t want to think about that right now. Mabel was all that mattered.

He pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store and ordered Mabel to stay where she was as he started getting out. She protested, saying she wanted to stay with him, but he insisted. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes,” he assured her, trying to smile encouragingly. “Just try not to move, alright?”

She sighed and turned over. “Okay.”

Stan went inside the store, looking inconspicuous. He’d done this plenty of times before, a careful balance of placing things he was actually going to pay for into a basket and tucking small things into his jacket when no one was looking that he intended to just walk out of the place with. No one was ever the wiser.

It was easier to shoplift in big cities. Higher populations meant a higher concentration of winged people, so he didn’t get as many curious glances at his wings as he did in smaller places where people were nosier. He got out of the store with no questions asked, no suspicious glares, and was sprinting back to his car within ten minutes.

Mabel was already sitting up as he opened the door, and he started pulling the fruit he’d shoplifted from his jacket pockets. “Got you these,” he said, pressing an apple and banana into her small, still slightly trembling hands. “Make sure you eat those, got it?”

“Okay. Thanks,” she mumbled, taking to the apple.

Stan tossed the bag of food he’d paid for onto the seat next to him. “You feeling any better?” he asked, watching her through his rearview mirror.

She sighed and shrugged, taking another bite of her apple. “The world’s still kind of topsy-turvy,” she said.

“Wanna come sit up here with me?” Stan offered, running a hand through his hair. He felt so bad for the kid. “We’re not conning anyone today. We’re gonna find a place to crash and let you get back on your feet.”

“Yes, please,” she smiled and Stan got out of his seat to open her door and help her around the car on her weak legs to the passenger side. She got in and did her seatbelt, curling against the door with her head resting against the window as she munched on the apple. Stan got back into the car and watched her for a few moments. She wasn’t getting any color back in her cheeks yet, but then he supposed she had exhausted herself on top of donating far too much blood – one apple was not going to make her better all at once.

“Let’s go,” he grinned at her, not quite genuine. She smiled back, and that made him feel better. “How do you feel about motels?”

“They’re good,” Mabel responded, her mouth full.

Stan wasn’t sure if she was still shaking because of her blood loss or the cold, or a bit of both, but he extended a wing over her regardless. She let out a soft noise of contentment and snuggled beneath it, still nibbling at the fruit.

“We’re off, then,” Stan sighed, starting his car. “Let’s get you better, sweetie.”


	6. Magnificence

Stan drove a ways outside of the city before he felt safe enough to pull over at a roadside motel, relatively positive no one had been following him. The last thing he and Mabel needed right now was Santiago’s gang on their tail.

He checked in as quickly as possible, constantly casting nervous glances out the window to reassure himself nothing else bad was happening to the kid today. He could see her in the front seat still. She remained curled up with her head against the window, munching slowly on the banana Stan had given her. At least she was eating it. The sooner they increased her iron levels, the better. Stan grimaced as the man at the desk passed him a room key, guilt persistently twisting his stomach. He still couldn’t believe he’d let this happen.

He went back out to the car and pulled open the passenger side door. “Alright, Kid,” he said, trying to grin down at her. It felt too forced. “We’ve got a home for the night.”

“Awesome,” she said. Her voice was still weak, but she sounded enthusiastic about it. She crawled out of the car and swayed for a moment on weak legs, and Stan reached out a hand to steady her. A flash of scarlet coming from the car caught his eye, and as he looked back he saw a few red feathers fluttering to the ground from where Mabel had been sitting only a few moments before.

“Uh… Kid?” Stan asked. “Are you molting or something?”

Mabel had seen the feathers too, and she was staring at them with an expression of horror. “I’m losing feathers!” she squeaked, clapping a hand to her mouth. “My wings finished molting at the beginning of the summer. Why am I losing feathers?!”

She seemed to be on the verge of an anxiety attack, and Stan was desperate to prevent that. She’d had more than enough excitement for the day, and an anxiety attack was the last thing she needed now, when she was so weak. He pulled her into him, wrapping an arm around her. “Hey. It’s okay,” he said as reassuringly as he could. “It’s probably just stress. You’ve been through a lot lately. Just calm down.”

Her breaths slowed, thank goodness, and soon she was nodding slowly and pulling away. Stan smiled down at her. “You good?”

“I’m good,” she sighed.

“Okay, then. Let’s get you inside and back to your hyperactive self. This whole sluggish thing you’ve got going on is freaking me out,” he chuckled, affectionately patting her head.

She stuck her tongue out at him, but grinned back.

 

The room was modest, but a lot better than any place Stan had stayed in the last few weeks. Two beds, an armchair in the corner, crappy scenery paintings on the walls, a lamp. Stan was mostly happy for a bathroom with running water.

Mabel was excited about that as well. She wanted to take a shower immediately, but Stan stopped her, telling her to hold off for a couple hours to get some of her strength back. He didn’t fancy her chances of being able to stand still for several minutes without falling over just yet. Mabel reluctantly agreed, and instead crawled onto one of the beds, burying her face in a pillow. Within a few minutes she was asleep, and Stan sighed and settled into the armchair, spreading out his wings and stretching them, considering what to do next. Tomorrow morning he would have to go back to Marco’s bar and see if he’d gotten any information, and hopefully he could find his old boss, hand over the money, and walk away, his debt settled and his conscience clear.

The real problem was Mabel. He didn’t want to drag her into this. Hell, he didn’t even want her knowing about his days as a drug smuggler. It wasn’t exactly the ideal gig, but it had paid. It had been nice, having money for once, though most of his earnings had gone to fixing up the Diablo, which had at the time been practically falling apart.

He had no idea what to do with Mabel, though. Not like he could dump her somewhere with a promise to return when he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be coming back. Santiago wasn’t well known for his mercy. Ideally he’d want to take her to someone he trusted, knowing they would take care of her if something happened to him, but anyone he trusted was gone. He hadn’t seen the only person he had trusted completely in over half a decade.

The idea of calling Carla flickered for just a moment in his mind, but he shook it off. No point dragging her into this too, especially since he’d met her only once and it was far too much to ask of a person who barely knew him. Stupid idea.

He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. Ugh. He could feel how oily and disgusting it was. Well, if Mabel was napping he was going to take a shower. By the time she woke up there should be plenty of hot water.

It didn’t take long, though washing his wings in such a small shower was a bit of a challenge. He managed as best he could before getting out and drying off, throwing on clothes from the duffel bag he’d had with him since he left home. As he came out of the bathroom and glanced towards Mabel, sleeping soundly on the bed, still looking pale and small, he dropped his bag on the other bed and smiled slightly. It was nice, having someone to look after, who cared about him in return. Maybe he didn’t know what to do about her tomorrow, but just for the moment it felt good to have a purpose.

Stan was overflowing with nervous energy and had no way to channel it in their tiny motel room, so he slipped out to take a walk, making sure the door locked behind him. He didn’t stray very far – he made sure he could see the motel at all times – and often sprinted back to it when he saw any car pull up, but his paranoia so far was pointless – none of those cars belonged to one of Santiago’s men.

He stumbled across a tiny laundromat down the street from the motel, wedged between a tiny convenience store and what looked like a pretty sad, crappy diner, and he realized it would probably be a good idea to utilize it. Mabel would probably appreciate clean clothes, too. She’d been wearing the same t-shirt, skirt, and sweater for a few days now, after all. When she woke up he’d give her one of his t-shirts to wear for a while and he’d go do laundry while she hopped in the shower, he decided.

She was still asleep when he got back to the room, but it wasn’t long before she began to stir, blinking a few times before sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Stan grinned at her. “Did you have a nice nap?”

“It was okay,” she said, the last word cut short by a yawn.

“You feeling any better?” Stan asked, looking at her with a scrutinizing gaze. She looked a little better. Still pale, but with a bit of color back in her cheeks.

Mabel pursed her lips as she tried to assess how exactly she was feeling. “I think so?” she said, though it sounded like a question. She gave her wings a slow, experimental flap. A feather fluttered to the floor. She sighed and buried her face in her hands for a moment before looking back up at Stan. “I just want to take a shower.”

“Go ahead,” Stan said, rummaging in his duffel bag for a clean shirt. Jesus, he really did need to do laundry. He only had one left. He pulled it out and tossed it to her. “Why don’t you put that on when you get out? I’m gonna go do laundry, if you want your clothes washed.”

Mabel’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please!” she said eagerly, and Stan felt a sense of relief. It was good to see her smile again.

“Okay. Just throw your clothes out here before you hop in the shower, then,” Stan said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Okay!” Mabel grinned, hopping off the bed. She swayed slightly on her legs for a second, but regained her balance and had no problem bounding to the bathroom. She shut the door behind her. Two minutes later it opened just a crack and she shoved the pile of clothes she’d been wearing into the room before the door slammed shut again. Stan heard the shower start up, and he shook his head, smiling slightly as he collected her clothes and stuffed them into his duffel bag along with his. She was really an adorable little kid, getting excited over something like this.

Sixty cents and one full load of laundry later Stan headed back for the motel room, satisfied. But as he reached for the handle of the door he heard from inside Mabel let out a squeal of pain, and any sense of security Stan had fled at once. He wrenched open the door, feeling his gut sinking as he imagined what he might find, but was entirely underwhelmed when he saw Mabel, sitting alone on her bed staring up at him in shock. She was wearing his t-shirt, which drowned her, so long it stopped at her knees, and had one wing outstretched as she attempted to groom it. “Um… hi,” Mabel said unsurely.

Stan let out a long breath, releasing the tension in his muscles as he dropped his bag and approached her. “Mabel, sweetie,” he said, gently pulling her hands away from her wing. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

Mabel felt like she was in trouble. The last time she and Dipper had tried to take care of their wings alone Grunkle Stan had caught them, and this felt nearly exactly like that. “Well… sort of,” she mumbled. “I know how to groom wings, but…”

“Grooming your own is a lot different,” Stan finished for her, nodding. He could understand that perfectly. His own hadn’t been properly groomed in years. He did what little maintenance he could, but he didn’t trust anyone enough to help him with proper wing care. Not anymore.

He knew Mabel was worried about her feathers falling out, so he should have expected this. Well, if he was going to take care of her, this was part of the deal. “Budge over, Kid,” he said, playfully nudging her shoulder.

“Huh?” She seemed confused, but did shift over to make room enough for him to sit next to her.

“I’m gonna groom your wings for you.”

He saw her eyes flicker to his unkempt wings and she drew hers back, a little protectively. “Um… are you sure?” she asked.

Stan rolled his eyes, trying very hard not to be offended. “Relax, Kid. I know what I’m doing,” he said, gesturing for her to extend a wing to him. She did, though cautiously. When he touched it she flinched. “Seriously, sweetie, calm down,” he instructed. She let out a long breath and Stan felt the tension in her wings release. “Better,” he said approvingly before setting to work.

He started with the inside of the wing she had offered to him, gently adjusting and smoothing her feathers, carefully pulling out the odd stray feather ready to come out on its own. “This feel okay?” he asked Mabel, who had shut her eyes.

She nodded, working very hard at trying not to cry. The method was familiar, and would have been comforting if it didn’t remind her so much of home. No matter what age, Stan’s technique was the same. If she cared to try, she could almost imagine she was sitting in the kitchen of the Mystery Shack with Grunkle Stan softly grooming her wings for her.

He shifted over when he finished with the inside of the wing, beginning to work on the outside. Mabel let out a long sigh and shuddered, trying to swallow back a sob. Stan drew his hands back. “Whoa, Kid. You okay?” he asked, leaning forward to try and see how she was doing. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

A tear trickled down Mabel’s cheek and she desperately wiped at it. “No, I’m fine,” she said quickly, turning her face away so Stan couldn’t see her crying.

“You’re not fine, Kid. Obviously something’s wrong,” Stan insisted, moving to sit next to her instead of behind. “You wanna talk about it?”

It’s… it’s really stupid,” Mabel whispered.

“It’s not stupid if you’re crying about it,” Stan said, tentatively wrapping an arm around her. “So, do you wanna talk about it?”

She let out a long shuddery breath. “It’s just… back when… when I was home, Grunk… I mean, there was someone there who groomed my wings like you did. Exactly like you did,” she stammered out, careful not to reveal too much about her life.

Stan sighed and held her just a little tighter. “Sorry, Kid,” he apologized quietly. “Do you want me to stop?”

“What? No!” Mabel protested. “It was nice, really! It just made me a little…” she trailed off, lost for the word.

“Homesick?” Stan suggested, and Mabel sighed heavily but said nothing. Stan patted her shoulder and moved back to work between her wings, Mabel taking deep breaths and trying to lose herself in the feeling of Stan carefully smoothing out her feathers. It did feel nice.

Stan worked methodically, moving from one wing to the next. Outside to inside on one and inside to outside on the other. He eased out a few more of her stray feathers and smoothed out the rest, and when he was satisfied he drew back. “There you go, sweetie. Good as new,” he announced, shifting back to sit next to her.

She smiled and stretched them out, mumbling a sound of contentment. “They feel much better,” she said, grinning up at Stan. He smiled back at her, but the smile faded when she eagerly announced, “Your turn!”

He instinctively leaned away from her. “Uh… no, that’s okay, Kid. You don’t have to—”

“You groomed my wings for me, so I’ll groom yours for you,” Mabel insisted, getting further on the bed so she was at Stan’s back. “I know how to do it.”

“Really, Mabel, I’m not sure this is a great idea…”

“You’re right. It’s a fantastic one!” Mabel said decisively. “It’s happening, Stan. No getting out of it!”

He groaned, but succumbed, extending one wing. “How often do people say no to you, Kid?” he asked, just a little amused by her persistence.

“Not very,” she said, examining his wing. “Nothing is stronger than the power of Mabel!”

Stan smirked. “I believe it.”

When Mabel started adjusting his feathers, going very slowly to avoid making any mistakes Stan let out a long breath. Jesus, it had been a long time since anyone besides him had touched his wings. He could tell how careful Mabel was being, and it was extremely sweet of her, but boy, did this bring back memories. Memories he wasn’t particularly enthused about dwelling on.

Mabel tried to remember everything Grunkle Stan had ever taught her about wing care in the future as she worked, a little nervous that so many of Stan’s feathers were coming out. She finished one wing and looked over her handiwork for a moment and let out a soft breath. “Wow.”

“What?” Stan asked.

“Your wings are so beautiful,” Mabel said, sounding a little awed as she moved on to the other one. “What kind of bird do they resemble?”

“Golden eagle,” Stan told her, smiling. “But I think yours are nicer.”

He heard her giggle before she said, “They’re just… wow. Your wings are amazing.”

Stan wasn’t sure what he was feeling at the moment. Extremely fond of Mabel, that was for sure, but it was almost like… nostalgia. It had been so long since someone had complimented his wings.

They were both silent as Mabel worked on his other wing, several more feathers fluttering to the floor in the process, but when she finally pulled away his wings were rather magnificent. Mabel was quite dazzled.

Stan cleared his throat awkwardly. “Okay, Kid. You did good.”

She beamed back up at him. “They look so cool, Grunk—I mean, Stan! They’re incredible!” She threw her arms around Stan’s neck in a hug, and quite abruptly her demeanor shifted from happy to serious. “Promise me you’ll keep taking care of them?” she whispered.

“Uh… sure,” Stan said unsurely, stiffly patting her arm.

“No. Not good enough. _Promise_ you’ll take care of your wings. Please,” she begged, remembering Grunkle Stan’s wings and wincing when she considered how awful they looked in her time. How Grunkle Stan used his own wings as a cautionary tale when he lectured her and Dipper on proper wing care.

She was messing with history now, and she knew it. But just at the moment, she didn’t care. She couldn’t stand the thought that Stan’s magnificent wings would be weak and tattered and flightless in the future, not when they were so beautiful and perfect now.

Stan slowly returned the hug. “Okay. I promise, sweetie.”

“Good,” she said, pulling away and nodding, smiling back up at him.

Stan had no idea what the sudden somberness had been for, but it seemed she was right back to happy now. He affectionately patted her head and asked, “Do you want dinner? I got stuff to make sandwiches with.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, uh – can you eat peanut butter? Are you allergic or anything?” Stan asked, thinking very suddenly of that possible complication.

But Mabel shook her head. “Nope! I love peanut butter!”

“Great. Peanut butter sandwiches for dinner it is.”

They ate and spent a couple hours joking around, Mabel scribbling drawings on the pad of paper on the desk with a pen she’d found in one of the drawers, until Stan decided it was time for bed. Mabel didn’t protest, but when Stan made for the bed he had claimed for his own, Mabel awkwardly followed him. “Um… can I sleep next to you?” she asked, eyes on her feet.

Stan didn’t have the heart to say no to her. He only nodded and she crawled happily into bed, and after a couple moments of awkwardly staring at her as she settled in, Stan sighed and shut off the light, getting in on the other side. Mabel snuggled up against him unashamedly, her eyes shut as she drifted off. Stan couldn’t help but smile and place a hand on her shoulder, following suit.

He loved the kid. There was no denying it.

He just hoped he didn’t screw her up.


	7. Atonement

Stan slept soundly that night, which was unusual for him. He didn’t usually sleep well, not even on nights like this one, when he had a proper bed, but for some reason tonight was different. Maybe it was because he felt more exhausted than usual lately. Or maybe it was because of Mabel.

That kid had some kind of calming effect on him. It was nice, but Stan wasn’t sure, just at the moment, if that was a good thing. He still needed to be alert. New York was Santiago’s territory, and Stan knew as far as his old boss was concerned, that made him and Mabel more or less the drug lord’s prey. And Stan, having stolen quite a bit of money from the man a couple months previously, already had a target on his back.

Stan looked to the kid, still sleeping soundly next to him. She looked extremely content, a tiny smile even on her lips. Stan felt the corners of his own lips twitch up. She was extremely endearing. He patted her shoulder a couple times before standing up and stretching out his wings. They felt so much better now that they were groomed.

He had to go back into the city today. Back to that bar. Back to find Santiago. And he still didn’t have a clue what he was going to do with Mabel. He couldn’t take her with him. She wouldn’t be safe, and right now her safety was his first priority. He tried to figure out any possible places he could safely leave her for a day as he laid her clothes out on the bed that hadn’t been slept in, but could come up with no feasible options.

He’d let her sleep a while longer while he mulled over what to do, he decided as he trekked into the bathroom.

Mabel faded into consciousness slowly, hearing the sound of water running in the bathroom sink and Stan puttering around the bathroom. She smiled, rolling over in bed and stretching out her arms, eyes still closed. She felt much better after a full night’s sleep.

She heard the soft sound of the lock on the door clicking, which confused her. She could still hear Stan in the bathroom, so if he was there…

She bolted upright in the bed in time to see a hooded figure advancing on her, and before she could scream a large hand went across her face and a cloth was shoved over her mouth and nose. She barely registered a kind of chemically sweet scent before reality went hazy and suddenly she was spiraling into an uncomfortable, fear-riddled darkness.

 

Stan came out of the bathroom intending to wake up Mabel, insisting they needed to start getting ready to head out, but he found her gone.

His immediate thought, as panic rammed into his gut like he’d been hit by a car, was that she’d run off again – but then, she wouldn’t. Certainly not after yesterday, when she’d seen how much she had shaken him. And she was still weak, still recovering. She couldn’t have run off.

Not of her own accord. And certainly not without getting dressed. Her clothes remained undisturbed on the bed, and her shoes were still lying on the floor where she had kicked them off last night.

“Fuck,” the word slipped past his lips involuntarily. He could feel his heart pounding already as he grew more and more nervous, desperately approaching the bed and beginning to look around. There was always a note. They had to have left him a note.

There it was. A simple white piece of paper with neat, practically elegant handwriting. Santiago’s. For such a cruel and twisted man, his penmanship was wonderful. But there was no threatening message. It merely had an address, one Stan didn’t recognize, and a time. Four p.m. seemed like kind of a weird hour to make a hostage exchange, but Santiago had his own agenda. His nights were probably reserved for shadier deals, possibly murders.

Stan sank onto the bed and buried his face in his hands.

They had her. Mabel. That sweet kid. They’d kidnapped her. She was probably unconscious, Stan knew from his months working in the gang. Hell, he’d been the one stuffing chloroform in peoples’ faces before, not that he was proud of it. But when she woke up, she was going to be terrified. Stan felt sicker and sicker thinking about it. That adorable girl who had nothing to do with any of this. She’d probably fight back at first, because damn did that kid have spirit, but they’d shut her down fast. It was more than likely that they’d hurt her. And then she’d be scared, maybe even crying, and at the mercy of some of the most ruthless men Stan had ever met.

He barely made it back to the bathroom in time to throw up.

He’d never been this scared. He’d been in plenty of dangerous situations, situations that would make lesser men scream and cry like infants. He’d done things he could never hope to atone for. He’d stared down the barrels of guns held by men fully intending to pull the triggers. But he had never been as terrified those times as he was right now.

This was different. He supposed this is what happened when you cared about someone other than yourself. When you _loved_ someone other than yourself. He loved Mabel. He knew he did. That kid was the only good thing that had happened to him in six years. She was the first person since he’d been kicked out into the streets that made him feel like he was worth something.

And he knew she loved him, too. Unconditionally, which was the scariest part. It was odd for him to think about, but he was fairly certain she’d loved him since he’d pulled her out of that alley and let her tag along. He didn’t have to prove himself to her. Hell, he’d already disappointed her more than once. But she didn’t care. She always forgave him.

Stan honestly didn’t think it was possible for him to care about anyone anymore, and then Mabel had rocketed into his life like the shooting star on her sweater to prove him wrong.

He couldn’t let her down. He couldn’t let her be hurt.

He was going to get her back.

Whatever the cost.

 

Waking up didn’t feel right to Mabel. The air was heavy and it was cold. She definitely wasn’t in a bed. Her hands were behind her back, and she couldn’t move them. Couldn’t move her legs, either. Where was she?

She blinked open her eyes, disoriented as she took in her surroundings. She had no clue where she was. The walls were covered in plastic sheeting, light shining dimly through them, hiding what looked like the framework of a building. Was she in some house that was still being constructed? She didn’t understand. She and Stan had been at a motel. She’d slept next to him, and it had been nice, but then—

The events of the morning hit her at once and she whimpered, realizing her situation. Wherever she was, she had been brought by people who were not going to be nice to her. She looked down at her ankles and grimaced when she saw that they were bound. No possible way to run. By the feel of it, her wrists were tied together as well, and it was uncomfortably tight. But she certainly wasn’t going to call out asking for someone to loosen them.

The best plan of action was probably to make no noise at all. Curl up and be quiet. She wished she had her sweater with her, but no. She was still wearing the shirt Stan had given her last night to sleep in, and it didn’t do much for her by way of warmth.

Stan. He’d come find her, wouldn’t he? He had to. He’d been worried sick about her yesterday when she’d disappeared. Surely he’d come looking for her, and he’d beat up whoever had taken her. He’d save her, just like he had in the future with those zombies Dipper had summoned during that karaoke party, which seemed so long ago.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, nervous and shivering, before anything remotely interesting happened. Voices came from somewhere in the building, though she couldn’t exactly discern which direction they were coming from until they were close, and she saw two shadows moving on the other side of the plastic sheeting before ducking through to the room she was in.

The men were both tall and fairly menacing, though that might have been how Mabel was translating the fear she was experiencing. Neither of them had wings. One of them was wearing a suit not unlike the one Grunkle Stan wore when running the Mystery Shack, except this man was wearing an actual tie with his instead of some weird bowtie. He had black hair slicked back and a handsome face, but Mabel didn’t like the way he was grinning at her.

“So, you’re the kid Andrew has been dragging around with him,” the man said, looking her up and down. Mabel was lost for a moment before she remembered all the fake I.D.s she and Dipper had found in Stan’s room not long ago. Was Andrew one of his other names? Probably. He had a whole lot of them. She didn’t know who else this guy could be talking about, anyway.

“Far too old to be his daughter,” the man said contemplatively. “His sister, maybe? A cousin? But…” he approached her nonchalantly and Mabel tried edging as far as she could from him, but with her ankles bound and nowhere to go, there wasn’t much she could do to prevent him from reaching out and forcibly spreading open one of her wings. “Such pretty wings. Are you his pet, small one?”

“Don’t touch me,” Mabel muttered, struggling to release her wing from his hold. He did and she folded it back into place, her feathers ruffled.

The other man grinned at her. He was dressed far more plainly than the other one, the one who seemed in charge and had pulled her wing. He was quite a bit bigger, and had a scar running across his right cheek. He was pulling a box of cigarettes from his pocket. “I know a guy who pays real well for winged slaves. Bet you he’d give us a ton for her,” he grinned wickedly, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

 _Slave_. Mabel’s breath caught in her throat. It felt like some icy hand had wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed it.

The well-dressed man stood up straighter, still smiling down at Mabel. The longer he did, the more she felt like some poor animal caught by a predator.

About to be eaten.

“Well, little one, I think you should know you made a big mistake in deciding to keep company with Andrew. You see, he stole something from me and I intend to get it back. Only after teaching him a lesson, of course. And unfortunately for you, you’re lesson number one,” the well-dressed man explained, though he didn’t sound sympathetic. In fact, he sounded almost eager. He gestured to the other man, the one who was smoking. “This is Gordon. He likes to play games, though the games he wants to play with you will no doubt be ones you’re none too fond of. However,” his grin turned nasty, downright evil, as he added, “You really don’t have a choice.”

Gordon advanced on her then, and Mabel let out a yelp as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her up onto her knees.

“Do whatever you like with her, as long as you don’t mess up her face,” the well-dressed man ordered his henchman, sounding more like he was giving instructions on how to do some mundane task than laying down guidelines for torture. “You won’t have time for your usual ritual, but certainly you can rough her up a bit before our guest of honor arrives. And for god’s sake, don’t kill her. Not without Andrew watching, that is.”

And he was gone, leaving Mabel alone with a man looking gleefully sadistic as he imagined what hell he could wreak on her. Mabel was trying to cope with several new fears all at once, from the immediate threat at hand to the realization that Stan was in fact coming for her.

But they would kill her when he did.

“Scared yet, pretty bird?” Gordon hissed, blowing smoke directly into her face. She coughed, choking on it. “Oh, you don’t like that?” he asked in mock sympathy. “I’m _sorry_. Allow me to put it out.”

Mabel screamed as he pressed the tip of his lit cigarette into the flesh of her inner arm, and Gordon laughed. “And it’s only gonna get worse,” he whispered.

 

Waiting for four o’clock was agony. There wasn’t much Stan could do, though. He packed up and checked out of the motel, trying his best not to look panicked and spent the day more or less pacing up and down the sidewalk outside the address that had been on the note left by Mabel’s kidnapper. It was an unfinished building, about fifty stories high and still under construction, on the edge of the downtown area. It was tempting to go barging in as soon as he found it, but Stan had no idea what floor they might be keeping Mabel on, if they were even inside, and the consequences for disobeying the orders on the note could be dire. No, if he went in before he was supposed to he might very well get both Mabel and himself killed.

When four p.m. finally arrived Stan all but sprinted into the building. The door had been left unlocked for him. The inside of the building was mostly finished, with plastic sheeting on some walls and the odd stack of boards or tile littered about. It was deadly quiet. Stan’s every breath sounded much too loud, his every footfall a thunderous racket.

He jumped when the sound of metal grinding together flooded the room, reverberating through the place. Stan looked for the source and realized it was the elevator. The machine must have been installed early for the ease of the people working on the building’s construction. It ground to a halt and the doors slid open, inviting him menacingly inside.

Stan shove a hand into one pocket, feeling the weight of the wad of cash inside. Three thousand dollars, made up over the course of the last several weeks in various casinos. Five hundred more than he had stolen, disappeared with three months ago. Insurance. He just wanted to hand it over and get Mabel back in exchange, but more and more he was seeing how stupid that idea had been. He should never have come back to New York. Now his naivety might cost Mabel dearly.

He didn’t really have a choice but to get in the elevator. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew where he was headed.

He wished he had a gun as he jabbed the button that would carry him to the top floor. But the only thing he had was his knife, stashed inside of his boot again.

The ride up felt like it would never end. The entire time Stan tried to map out what might happen once he arrived, but with Santiago he could never be sure. What he did know was the man liked grandeur. He thought he was untouchable. Stan wondered how many of his henchmen he’d have with him. Sometimes it was only one. Sometimes it was an entourage.

The doors opened onto a floor very obviously incomplete, the skeleton of the walls covered by plastic sheeting, the floor covered in a light dusting of sawdust. It was much colder than the nearly-finished first floor where Stan had entered the building, and Stan noted the empty spaces where windows had yet to be placed.

He looked around as he cautiously proceeded through the maze of plastic, looking for any sign his old boss may have left for him. Listening carefully for any sounds, expecting to hear Santiago’s low, threatening voice at any second.

He found a set of stairs that led up to the roof. It was all pretty much as he expected, but that didn’t make him feel better about the situation. Steeling his nerve, he mounted the stairs and ascended them to the door at the top, pushing it open and stepping out into the cold autumn air, staring out across the skyline of the city.

“Andrew,” the voice that he’d been dreading for three months drawled from behind him, sounding deceptively pleasant. Stan had learned during his months working for the man that his voice grew increasingly cordial the more pissed off he was. He’d heard it many times.

But never directed at him. Not like this.

Stan turned to face Santiago and sucked in a harsh breath. The drug lord looked as put-together and sophisticated as he always did, not a hair out of place or even a wrinkle in his suit, and he was smiling at Stan. Several feet away was Gordon, always Stan’s least favorite of Santiago’s henchmen, looking on the scene with a gleeful anticipation. He had a gun in one hand, the barrel pressed against—

Mabel. Stan wanted to let out a furious shout when he saw the child, but held it back. He didn’t want to risk getting her hurt any more than she already was. Her wrists were bound in front of her and her hair was a terrible mess, tangled and sticking out at odd ends like it had been yanked in various directions. Her arms and legs were showing signs of abuse, angry and red where bruises promised to blossom over the next couple days. And worst of all were the marks dotting her arms, small circular burns that had very clearly been received recently. Her eyes were red and tear tracks stained her cheeks, and she looked at Stan desperately from where she was held, pinned against her tormentor with a gun pressed to her temple.

Santiago approached Stan at a leisurely pace, his smile widening with every step. “You look well,” he commented, a furious gleam flashing in his eyes. “I’m sure things have been easier for you with _my_ money.”

“Look, I didn’t come here for a fight,” Stan said, shocked at how calm his voice sounded when inside his emotions were swirling around in a fear-riddled panic. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the roll of cash. “I came to return your money. With interest. You can have it. Just give me back the kid, and we can forget this ever happened.”

Santiago chuckled. “Oh, Andrew, Andrew, Andrew,” he said, shaking his head. “You think _that_ will atone for what you’ve done to me?”

“I don’t want any trouble,” Stan said stonily, holding out the money. “I just want the girl.”

He barely managed not to flinch when Santiago’s hand darted out, swatting the cash out of his hand as he advanced, grabbing Stan’s shirt collar and shoving him against the railing that ran around the roof’s perimeter. “You _stole_ from me, he snarled. “You _left_. You know the rules, Andrew. _No one_ leaves the ring without my say so.”

“I don’t recall anybody leaving,” Stan grunted back, thinking fleetingly of the knife in his boot. No – too risky for now. “Unless it was in a body bag.”

Santiago roughly released him, stepping backwards and straightening his cuffs, that furious gleam still in his eyes. “I was more than a little shocked to hear from Marco that you’d returned, I’ll admit,” he said. “I thought you’d slunk off to some hole like the rat you are. I was even more surprised to hear from the men I had tailing you that you’d picked up a child.”

“Leave her out of this,” Stan snarled, glancing at Mabel. Gordon dug the barrel of the gun into her skin and she whimpered. “She’s got nothing to do with any of this!”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Santiago shrugged, flashing Stan a wicked grin. “I doubt you told her about any of your past activities, particularly your time with us. But as I said, Andrew – you know the rules. And in order to get what I want, _anyone_ is fair game.”

“Your money is there,” Stan said icily, jerking his head at the bundle of cash lying on the roof. “Let her go.”

“This isn’t about the _money_ , you idiot,” Santiago laughed cruelly. “It’s about _respect_. It’s about your _betrayal._ It’s about _making you suffer_. I was quite glad to hear you’d acquired such a pretty pet, actually – it hurts so much more when someone you care about is in pain, doesn’t it?”

Stan gritted his teeth, looking back and forth from Gordon and Mabel to Santiago. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to tear his old boss apart and he wanted to rescue the kid, but he couldn’t do both, and even if he did one of those things no way were they both making it out alive. If he went for Mabel, Santiago could easily shoot him, and Mabel not long after. If he went for his old boss, Gordon would kill Mabel.

There seemed to be no way to win.

“You’re going to be punished for your transgressions, Andrew,” Santiago explained smoothly. “Starting with this – Gordon!” he barked, and his henchman looked up in eager anticipation.

“Yup?”

“Kill the girl.”

Stan let out a howl of protest that didn’t sound quite human as he lunged forward, knocking Santiago aside with such a force as he tried to get to Mabel that the drug lord went sprawling to the ground with a pained grunt.

Mabel, upon hearing the order, found what fight she had left in her. One thought was roaring in her head, drowning out everything else. _I don’t want to die_. She felt the gun dig just a little deeper into the skin at her temple and she abruptly thrashed her head back, catching the man who had been abusing her all afternoon by surprise. The hand not holding his gun flinched upwards, giving her a small window of opportunity that she took.

She bit down on his hand as hard as she could, grimacing as the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and he shrieked, a sound of pain and fury, just before Stan barreled into the both of them, knocking Mabel aside as he took a hold of Gordon.

The henchman struggled against him, but Stan already had his hands around the man’s neck, and the more Gordon thrashed the weaker he became until he was clawing at Stan’s hands, desperately trying to restore air to his windpipe. Stan drew back just long enough to land a well-placed blow, knocking the man out. Stan leapt to his feet and whirled around, searching for Mabel.

“Over here, Andrew,” Santiago’s murderous voice sounded from his left, and he looked in horror to the drug lord. He had Mabel in his grasp, gun in hand, and Stan wanted could hardly believe he’d let a gun be pressed against her head again. His old boss looked ruffled, the first time Stan had ever seen him like that.

Stan barely had time to process what was happening before Santiago flung Mabel off the roof, and her bloodcurdling screams filled the air.

Stan didn’t have time to think. If he didn’t act _now_ , the kid was going to die. He sprinted for the roof’s edge and Santiago prepared for an attack, but Stan plowed straight past him and dove, plummeting towards the ground after Mabel.

Her screams didn’t cease as she uselessly flapped her wings, trying desperately to fly or at the very least slow her descent even though she knew she couldn’t. She hadn’t learned, she didn’t know how. The last time she had tried to fly it had ended badly – she had flung herself from a tree and Grunkle Stan had barely managed to catch her, hurting his shoulder in the process, and she hadn’t made an attempt since. And she regretted that more than she thought it was possible to regret something. She was going to die, all because she didn’t know how to fly.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her quite abruptly, and Mabel shrieked briefly before she realized it was Stan. She had been too panicked to notice he’d come after her. She squeezed her eyes shut, briefly thinking both of them were going to die and how that would change the future so much that she and Dipper probably wouldn’t ever even have been born, and she wasn’t just going to die – she was going to have never existed.

The relief Stan felt when he caught Mabel was indescribable, but now he had a very different task at hand, and if he didn’t do it within the next second their chances of surviving the fall was very slim. He hadn’t flown in years, not since he was a teenager, but his wings felt better than they had since he was kicked out thanks to Mabel’s attentive grooming the previous night and as he extended them and gave them a few powerful flaps he felt a rush of adrenaline he’d almost forgotten about. Flying was intoxicating. Their descent slowed and, only several feet from the ground, Stan felt a current beneath his wings and gave them another vigorous flap, and suddenly they were rocketing skyward.

It was obvious, as Stan dropped Mabel back on the roof before he went barreling into Santiago, that his old boss was not expecting either of them to survive the fall. That was the thing, though – Santiago honestly believed he was untouchable. And Stan, in the rush of adrenaline as he wrestled against the drug lord, didn’t notice the gun until it fired and a searing pain shot throughout his body from his shoulder. His former boss was screaming slanders and curses as Stan knocked the gun from his hands, clawing for Stan’s face in a rage, and Stan snapped. He wanted it to be over.

He reeled back and aimed a powerful kick to the center of Santiago’s chest, and it was delivered with such force that the man staggered backwards, losing his footing before Stan punched him in the jaw, and that was the deciding blow that sent Santiago over the roof’s edge.

Stan listened to his screams in stony silence, his jaw set in a hard line. He certainly wouldn’t be diving after him. No – Santiago was a man who certainly did not deserve to be saved. He listened until the screams came to an abrupt end, and suddenly it was like a bubble broke and everything came flooding over him at once. He had just killed a man. Mabel had almost died.

Stan whirled around and sprinted back to where Mabel had collapsed to the ground, shaking and sobbing. “Mabel,” he said desperately, dropping to his knees beside her and grabbing for her wrists, undoing the ropes and freeing her hands. She buried her face in them once they were released, sobbing wordlessly. Stan felt like his heart was about to break. “Mabel, I’m so sorry,” he apologized desperately, tears threatening at the corners of his own eyes. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”

There wasn’t much he felt he could do except for sit next to her while she cried, unsure if he should even touch her. After a few minutes Mabel sat up, still crying, and flung herself into his arms. Her entire body was still trembling violently. “I w-w-want to leave New York,” she wailed into his shoulder, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Please. I don’t want to be here anymore!”

Stan held her close, knowing no amount of apologies or any length of embrace would make up for everything that had just happened. “Okay,” he agreed softly. “We’ll leave. We’ll go tonight. Anything you want.” He began running his fingers through her hair, trying to gently work out the tangles knotted at the ends. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered again.

It took several minutes for her to regain her composure, or at the very least enough of it to pull away and stare at Stan’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding!” she whimpered.

“Oh,” Stan looked down. His shoulder was throbbing something fierce, but he’d felt worse. He certainly hadn’t been shot. “It just grazed me,” he assured her.

“H-h-hospital,” Mabel stammered out, but he shook his head.

“No. It’s fine,” Stan said firmly. “Besides, I’m more worried about you.”

“I’m okay,” Mabel whispered, but Stan shook his head and gently took her wrists, guiding her to extend her arms so he could see the marks there.

“Jesus,” Stan breathed, examining her burns. They were furious red circles, inflamed and barely scabbing. “Jesus…”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” Mabel tried to assure him, but Stan could tell she was lying. He groaned and stood up, keeping her cradled in his arms.

“We’ve got to go,” he said. “The cops will be here to investigate this soon, and it’ll be way better for us if we aren’t anywhere near here when they do.”

“What about him?” she asked, pointing at Gordon’s still-unconscious body.

Stan snorted, slightly amused. She wasn’t seriously showing concern for that bastard, was she? “The police will pick him up. If we’re lucky they’ll get his prints and pin him for the crimes he’s committed.”

Mabel bobbed her head up and down in a nod and then snuggled against Stan’s chest. “Okay,” she mumbled, shutting her eyes.

Stan made quick work of fleeing the building, stopping only to pick up the money he’d tried to offer Santiago before it had gotten ugly, locating his car and getting Mabel into the passenger seat before he crawled behind the wheel. As they drove away, Stan heard sirens start up in the distance behind them. It was a good thing they’d gotten out when they did.

Mabel was cradling her injured arms close to her body, and Stan looked over at her with guilt knotting his stomach and a grimace on his lips. “Where do you wanna go, sweetie?”

Mabel stared blankly out the window. “West,” she whispered.

“What’s west?” Stan asked, but Mabel only shook her head and rested her head against the window.

“Everything hurts,” she mumbled.

“We’ll pull over when we’re out of the city,” Stan assured her. “I’ve got a first aid kit stashed in the back. I’m going to take care of you, Kid. I promise.”

At last, a tiny smile flickered across her mouth. “I know.”


	8. Cross Country

When the skyline of New York had disappeared at last, Stan pulled the car over. The rush of adrenaline he had gotten from the events of the last couple hours – diving off a building, flying, fighting, even killing a man – was starting to fade, and the full weight of the fact that he’d been responsible for Santiago’s death was starting to hit. He felt almost guilty about it, but couldn’t bring himself to regret it. The man had hurt people, blackmailed them, threatened them, murdered them. He was a man didn’t deserve to be spared.

He let Mabel change into her own clothes in the car while he waited outside, leaning against the trunk and rubbing his temples. No, he didn’t regret killing Santiago. But he did regret doing it in front of the kid. That had affected her. She still hadn’t stopped shaking.

Mabel opened the door to the car and started to get out, but Stan stopped her, opening the trunk up and pulling out his first aid kit. He had Mabel sit in the passenger seat facing outside so he could crouch in front of her, disinfecting the burns dotting her arms like twisted constellations. She flinched. Stan sighed sympathetically. “Yeah, it stings, I know. Sorry, sweetie.”

“It’s fine,” Mabel mumbled, watching as Stan replaced the disinfectant and pulled out a tube of burn cream.

“This’ll help, I promise,” Stan assured her, uncapping the tube and beginning to dab the ointment over the marks. She let out a long breath. “You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. That feels better. It doesn’t hurt as much.”

Stan smiled at her as he screwed the cap back on the tube. She was just so good. Burns up and down her arms, burns that probably hurt like hell, and she wasn’t complaining at all.

He finished up with her arms by applying generous amounts of antibiotic cream to her burns and bandaging both her arms up to her elbows. “Those too tight for you?”

She shook her head. “Nope. It’s good.” She gave one of her arms an experimental flex and grinned back up at him, though the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “They feel so much better,” she commented as she put on her sweater, tugging the sleeves down to make sure the bandages on her arms were completely hidden. “Thank you.”

Stan rubbed her head affectionately. “Get back in the car, Kid. We’re gonna drive a couple hours before we stop for the night. We’ve got to get back to Pennsylvania. New Jersey isn’t… well, New Jersey isn’t really an option.”

Mabel did as she was told, shutting the door amusedly as Stan went to put away the first aid kit. She remembered Grunkle Stan telling her and Dipper about how he was banned in several states, New Jersey being one of them. But then she wondered, if he was operating under a fake name, why it was an issue for him.

Maybe he just didn’t want to dwell on the memories.

Stan got back in on the driver’s side and passed Mabel the bread and peanut butter he’d bought yesterday, along with a butter knife he’d stolen from some diner ages ago. “Make a sandwich, okay?” he said. “You need to eat something. You’re still recovering from all that blood you lost yesterday.”

She hadn’t eaten a thing all day and was more than happy to sloppily put together a couple sandwiches, passing one to Stan to eat as he drove. She munched on hers and watched the world roll past them, saying nothing when they crossed state lines into New Jersey. After a while she curled up in her chair and rested her forehead against the window, shutting her eyes. She still couldn’t quite believe Stan had killed a man, though she knew without a doubt it had happened. Santiago had no wings. He couldn’t have possibly survived that fall.

She wondered if it made her a bad person that she didn’t feel bad for him at all before she started to think about her timeline again, her mind flickering to the broken time machine wedged between the cushions in the backseat. Did Grunkle Stan from her time cause Santiago’s death, or was that exclusive to this Stan? And if it was, how would that affect her timeline? She didn’t feel like she was fading, so she assumed things were alright.

Even so, she couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep acting like things were okay, going along after Stan like she could stay with him. She didn’t belong here in 1977 – she needed to get back to 2012. She needed to fix the time machine, even if it was just a patch job good enough for a one-time use. The only problem was that she had no idea how. Technology had never really interested her.

Mabel hadn’t said so out loud, but she knew she was nudging Stan towards Oregon, towards Gravity Falls. She knew he would go wherever she wanted him to, trying to make up for getting her kidnapped, for putting her through the entire ordeal she had just experienced. She couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. The only person she could think of who could possibly help her was her Great Uncle Ford, but she wasn’t even entirely sure he was in Gravity Falls yet. What if he was still in college? How long could she wait for him to show up? How long could she convince Stan to stay in once place long enough for Ford to show up?

She tried to think through things. If Ford was in Gravity Falls, would he be working on the portal? It was still five years before he got sucked into it. Had he ever said how long he was working on the portal for?

No. He hadn’t. But even so, if he wasn’t then he’d be investigating the paranormal, filling up his journals. Maybe if they got there in time she could prevent the whole Bill mess from happening in the first place, the portal could be dismantled – or not even built – and Stan and his twin could make up without losing Ford to some other dimension for thirty years. And if she could prevent the portal from destroying things, so much could be better. Even Old Man McGucket—

Old Man McGucket. Fiddleford McGucket. Why hadn’t she thought about him before?! He’d built robots. Mabel had seen his handiwork. He knew computers even after his rational mind had failed him, and what had Great Uncle Ford said the man was doing when he called him up to help with his research in Gravity Falls? Building personal computers. Mabel could only imagine how tech-savvy McGucket was when he still had his wits about him.

She made the decision to keep pushing Stan towards Gravity Falls. If Ford was there, she would try to talk him out of building his portal, or finishing the portal, if he’d started it. If McGucket was there, even better. She’d tell him everything and have him look at her broken time machine. If he wasn’t there, she’d find a way to get to California and find him there.

Either way, it was time to stop avoiding her problems. It was probably time to let Stan in on her predicament, too, but no matter how Mabel tried to imagine having that conversation with him, she couldn’t bring herself to actually strike it up. If she told him she was from the future he’d think she was crazy. Telling him she was his great niece from the future might cause him to make her seek more help than he could give her for insanity.

For now, she supposed she’d just keep quiet.

 

They stopped in Hershey, Pennsylvania for the night, staying in a cheap motel room with only one bed so that Mabel slept curled up next to Stan, though not restfully. Her dreams were nightmarish; Bill Cipher floated through them, taunting her for messing everything up and telling her she’d never get home before he swirled, turning into Gordon with his cigarettes and kicks before his face melted into Santiago’s. The floor crumbled beneath the drug lord, sending him falling fast to the ground—

Mabel woke up before she could watch the man’s death, but she was thoroughly shaken. Stan slept on, blissfully unaware of the things that haunted her, and she shifted closer to him, crying quietly and shivering. In his sleep, he wrapped an arm around her, which helped a bit. She drifted back to sleep after a while, but woke up every half hour or so with more nightmares.

Stan slept like a rock, content that he was finally free of Santiago and his goons. He thought he felt Mabel shivering in the middle of the night during an episode of consciousness somewhere between dreams and awake, so he pulled her a bit closer before succumbing to sleep again.

They were back on the road early the next morning after a cheap breakfast of bagels, and Mabel fell asleep pretty quickly, cheek pressed against the window and covered with Stan’s jacket. Stan listened to music, careful not to play it too loud, quietly humming as he drove. He wondered where they’d stop. Mabel seemed to want to get as far away from New York as possible, which was fine by him, though he did spend a lot more time than he would have liked thinking about Carla McCorkle and her hot pants. He wondered if he could coax Mabel back to the big city in the next couple weeks. Maybe they could settle in one of the surrounding areas, and he could get some sort of job—

Stan abruptly pulled himself from his thoughts. What was he doing? Imagining a future, one where he took care of Mabel forever, where he dated Carla, where everyone was happy? He hadn’t dared to dream of anything that good for ages. He had accepted long ago his life was going to be one spent on the road, never settling anywhere, never caring for anyone and never having anyone care about him. But now… that future seemed so depressing, so lonely. He wanted more.

He’d known Mabel for only a few days. Now, not only had she proven he was capable of caring about someone – loving someone – she had managed to make him shift his plans, his desires. He had always dreamed, when he dared to dream, about getting rich and proving his family was wrong about him. But somewhere along the line that dream had faded until he was content to imagine small things only – like where his next meal was coming from.

Sad life, really.

They stopped in Cleveland for food and gas, and at Mabel’s insistence Stan agreed to taking a walk that lasted a couple hours longer than he wanted it to because they got quite lost. They stumbled upon a craft store while trying to find their way back to his car, and Mabel squealed so loudly with excitement Stan flinched.

“Jesus, Kid, it’s not that exciting,” Stan said, shaking his head in amusement.

“They probably have knitting needles!” Mabel exclaimed, pulling on his arm. She was making in very clear she wanted to go inside. “I still have some money from singing in the park a couple days ago!”

Stan had no choice but to go in with her, following her as she wandered about. She got so excited when she found the yarn Stan thought she might just explode with happiness. Mabel bought a set of knitting needles and a few skeins of the blue yarn, and when they left the store and at last found his car about a half hour later, she was casting on with incredible speed as Stan started up the car again.

“You’re pretty good at that, sweetie,” Stan commented.

She beamed. “I knit all my own sweaters! I’ve got twenty-three of them!”

Stan decided it was better not to mention that she’d probably never see them again if she had run so far away from home. Well, yarn wasn’t _that_ expensive. He could make sure she started a new collection.

There he went thinking about that future with Mabel again. It was hard not to.

“We’re going to try to make it to Chicago for the night,” Stan told her as he got onto the highway. “It’s about five hours away.”

“Okay,” Mabel said distractedly, beginning the process of actually knitting. Stan sort of wished he could watch her work. He knew nothing about knitting, but he was pretty sure at the rate she was going she’d have about half that sweater done by the time they hit Chicago.

Mabel chattered about art and knitting and Stan listened with a grin on his face. Man, that kid could talk. She would get really excited about something and talk without talking a breath so she would have to take a long pause and inhale deeply before she resumed talking.

They made it to Chicago late that night, crashing once again in a motel room. Stan didn’t think he’d slept in a bed three consecutive nights since he was a teenager. It felt good. It was nice to actually sleep without the fear someone would come after him. Nice to wake up without a stiff neck from sleeping with his head rolled back against the seat of his car or a wing sore because he’d slept on it in a weird way.

As they were getting ready to turn in, Mabel content to wear one of Stan’s t-shirts as a nightshirt, he asked, “Where are we heading, anyway, Mabel?”

Mabel, who had up to that point still been happy to talk about various things, fell silent.

“Because we could stay in Chicago for a while,” Stan suggested. “There’s plenty to do in a city this size—”

“No,” Mabel interrupted stiffly, crawling under the covers. “No big cities.”

Stan couldn’t think of how to respond. He was quiet for a few moments. “Okay, then,” he sighed, pulling back the covers on his side of the bed. “How about Montana? Not a lot of big cities there.”

Mabel shook her head. “I was thinking about Oregon.”

“Oregon?” Stan repeated, an unpleasant twinge in his gut. The last time he’d heard mention of Oregon it was during one of those rare phone calls to home to talk to his mother about six months ago, a secret she kept hidden from her husband. She told him his brother had gotten a research grant to go to Oregon and study there. Where in Oregon his brother was Stan wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know what his brother was studying. Either way, Stan wasn’t too keen on the idea of running into him.

But then, Oregon was a big place, Stan thought as he crawled into bed and shut off the light. What were the chances Mabel would choose to go to the city his brother was in?

 

They made their way to Oregon more slowly than Stan would usually be able to, as he was delaying their arrival a bit. He told Mabel it was because he wanted her to recover and she couldn’t do that cooped up in a car at all hours of the day, but in all honestly he was nervous. Even though he knew the chances of running into his brother were slim, it still made him apprehensive to be going so close.

They made it to Omaha the next day, and Cheyenne the day after that. Mabel didn’t like Wyoming and wanted Stan to keep driving, but he refused. She was very happy when they left the next morning, and when they reached Twin Falls in Idaho Stan decided to call it a day. Mabel was now wearing the new blue sweater she’d finished a couple hours earlier and was begging him to find another craft store with her so she could stock up on more yarn, insisting she would knit him one next. Stan let her have her fun, this time buying her several skeins of red yarn, and for the rest of the day she worked on her new project, stopping only when Stan brought her his map and spread it out in front of her.

“Okay, Kid. We’re almost to Oregon. I need to know where I’m heading,” Stan announced, sitting down next to her. “If you want to go all the way to the coast we might have to split this trip up into two more days.”

Mabel shook her head, scanning the map. “No, not the coast,” she said. “Um… oh!” her eyes lit up and she pointed at a spot on the map. “Here. This is where we’re going.”

Stan looked at where she was pointing, a small town called Gravity Falls. Weird name. He had no idea what could possibly be there, but he wasn’t going to try to talk her out of it. In such a tiny town Mabel would probably get bored in a couple days and they’d leave. He gauged the distance and calculated out how long it would take to get there. “Alright, then,” he said, folding the map back up. “We’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon.”

Mabel was unusually quiet the rest of the evening, mulling over whether she should tell Stan about her being from the future or not. After all, they were headed somewhere he was going to hate once he found out she was taking him where Ford was. Just before bed she had almost mustered up the courage.

As Stan was reaching for the light switch on the bedside lamp, Mabel piped up, “Stan?”

He paused. “What is it, sweetie?”

She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t find the words. She didn’t know how to drop this bombshell on him. She wasn’t even sure she could. So she rolled over and mumbled, “Um… never mind.”

Stan sighed. He felt like the kid had something on her mind, but didn’t want to ask. So he shut the light off and laid down, shutting his eyes and trying to sleep. After a few minutes he felt the bed shift and Mabel snuggled up next to him like she had done every night this week, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t know what was wrong, but somehow he got the feeling things were all going to be okay.


End file.
